There are those who say the lover's heart

Is in the loved one's merged;
O, never by love's own warm art

so cold a plea was urged ! No!-hearts that love hath crowned or crossed,

Love fondly knits together ;
But not a thought or hue is lost

That made a part of either.
Expanding in the soft bright beat

That draweth each to other,
Each feels itself in every beat

Though beating for another ;
It is their very union's art

The separate parts to prove, "And man first learns how great his heart

When he has learned to love,
The loving hearts give back as due

The treasure it has found-
As scents return to him who threw

等 The precious things around Ag mirrors show, because they're bright,

What shadows o'er them move-
Receives the light, and by the light

Reflects the form of love.
As he wbo, wrapt in fancy's dream,

Bepds o'er some wave al even,
Yet deep within the sunlight stream

Sees but himself and heaven -
So, looketh through his loved one's eyes,

In search of all things rare,
The lover--and amid love's skies

Himself is everywhere.
It is an ill-told tale that tells

Of "hearts by love made one;"
He grows who near another's dwells

More conscious of his own ;
In each spring up new thoughts and powers

That, 'mid love's warm, clear weather,
Together tend like climbing flowers,

And, turning, grow together.
Such fictions blink love's better part,

Yields up its half of bliss;
Tbe wells are in the peighbor heart

When there is thirst in this :
There findeth love the passion flowers

On which it learns to thrive ;
Makes honey in another's bowers,

But brings it home to hive.
Love's life is in its own replies-

To each low beat it beats,
Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the sighe,

And every throb repeats.
Then, since one loying heart still throws

Two shadows in love's sun,
How shonld two loving hearts compose.

And mingle into one!

LOVE. Love is not made of kisses, or sighs, Of clinging hands, or of the sorceries And gubtle witchcrafts of alluring eyes. Love is not made of broken whispers. No! Nor of the blushing cheek, whose answering glow Tells that the ear has heard the accents low. Love is not made of tears, nor yet of smiles; Of quivering lips, or of enticing wiles : Love is not tempted; he himself beguiles. This is Love's language, but this is not Love. If we know aught of Love, how shall we dar To say that tbis is Love, when well aware That these are common things, and Love is rart? As separate streams may, blending, ever roll In course united, so, of soul to soul, Love is the union into one sweet whole. As molten metals mingle; as a chord Swolls sweet in harmony; when Love is lord, Two hearts are one, as letters form a word. One heart, one mind, one soul, and one desire, A kindred fancy, and a sister fire Of thought and passion; these can Love inspire. This makes heaven of earth; for this is Love.