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Poem by Thomas Hood


Sonnet (Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak)


Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak,
Lives not within the humor of the eye;
Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek,
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak,
As if the rose made summer,and so lie
Amongst the perishable things that die,
Unlike the love which I would give and seek:
Whose health is of no hueto feel decay
With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime.
Love is its own great loveliness alway,
And takes new lustre from the touch of time;
Its bough owns no December and no May,
But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.



Thomas Hood


Thomas Hood's other poems:
  1. The Boy at the Nore
  2. Stanzas (Is there a bitter pang for love removed)
  3. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
  4. Written in Keats' Endymion
  5. Sonnet for the 14th of February


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