A Womans Shortings
She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has ted six, and over,
Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried -
Oh, each a worthy lover!
They "give her time"; for her soul must slip
Where the world has set the grooving;
She will lie to h her fair red lip:
But love seeks truer loving.
She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb,
As her thoughts were beyond recalling;
With a glance for one, and a glance for some,
From her eyelids rising and falling;
Speaks on words with a blushful air,
Hears bold words, unreproving;
But her silence says - what she never will swear -
And love seeks better loving.
Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar,
And drop a smile to the bringer;
Then smile as sweetly, when he is far,
At the voice of an in-door singer.
Bask tenderly beh tender eyes;
Glance lightly, on their removing;
And join new vows to old perjuries -
But dare not call it loving!
Unless you think, when the song is done,
No other is soft in the rhythm;
Unless you feel, whe by One,
That all men else go with him;
Unless you know, when unpraised by his breath,
That your beauty itself wants proving;
Unless you swear "For life, for death!" -
Oh, fear to call it loving!
Unless you muse in a crowd all day
On the absent face that fixed you;
Unless you love, as the angels may,
With the breadth of heavewixt you;
Unless you dream that his faith is fast,
Through behoving and unbehoving;
Unless you die when the dream is past -
Oh, never call it loving!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning