I Do Not Love Thee

I DO not love thee! No! I do not love thee!

And yet when thou art absent I am sad;

And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,

Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

I do not love thee! yet, I know not why,

Whate'er thou does seems still well done, to me --

And often in my solitude I sigh --

That those I do love are not more like thee!

I do not love thee! yet when thou art gone

I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear)

Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone

Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.

I do not love thee! yet thy speaking eyes,

With their deep, bright and most expressive blue --

Between me and the midnight heaven arise,

Oftener than any eyes I ever knew.

I know I do not love thee! yet, alas!

Others will scarcely trust my candid heart;

And oft I catch them smiling as they pass,

Because they see me gazing where thou art.

Caroline Norton

We Have Been Friends Together

WE have been friends together

In sunshine and in shade,

Since first beneath the chestnut trees,

In infancy we played.

But coldness dwells within thy heart,

A cloud is on thy brow;

We have been friends together,

Shall a light word part us now?

We have been gay together;

We have laughed at little jests;

For the fount of hope was gushing

Warm and joyous in our breasts,

But laughter now hath fled thy lip,

And sullen glooms thy brow;

We have been gay together,

Shall a light word part us now?

We have been sad together;

We have wept with bitter tears

O'er the grass-grown graves where slumbered

The hopes of early years.

The voices which are silent there

Would bid thee clear thy brow;

We have been sad together.

Oh, what shall part us now?

Caroline Norton

The Cold Change

IN the cold change which time hath wrought on love

(The snowy winter of his summer prime),

Should a chance sigh or sudden tear-drop move

Thy heart to memory of the olden time;

Turn not to gaze on me with pitying eyes,

Nor mock me with a withered hope renewed;

But from the bower we both have loved, arise

And leave me to my barren solitude!

What boots it that a momentary flame

Shoots from the ashes of a dying fire?

We gaze upon the hearth from whence it came,

And know the exhausted embers must expire:

Therefore no pity, or my heart will break;

Be cold, be careless -- for thy past love's sake!

Caroline Norton

Bingen on the Rhine

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,

There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;

But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away,

And bent with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.

The dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's hand,

And he said, "I nevermore shall see my own, my native land:

Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine,

For I was born at Bingen, -- at Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,

To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground,

That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,

Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun;

And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, --

The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars;

And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline, --

And one had come from Bingen, -- fair Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age;

For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage.

For my father was a soldier, and even as a child

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,

I let them take whate'er they would, -- but kept my father's sword;

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine

On the cottage wall at Bingen, -- calm Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head,

When the troops come marching home again with glad and gallant tread,

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye,

For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die;

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame,

And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine)

For the honor of old Bingen, -- dear Bingen on the Rhine.

"There's another, -- not a sister: in the happy days gone by

You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye;

Too innocent for coquetry, -- too fond for idle scorning, --

O friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning!

Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the moon be risen,

My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), --

I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine

On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, -- fair Bingen on the Rhine.

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, -- I heard, or seemed to hear,

The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear;

And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still;

And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk,

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk!

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, --

But we'll meet no more at Bingen, -- loved Bingen on the Rhine."

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, -- his grasp was childish weak, --

His eyes put on a dying look, -- he sighed, and ceased to speak;

His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, --

The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead;

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down

On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strown;

Yet calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen, -- fair Bingen on the Rhine.

Caroline Norton