NAY, DO NOT ASK.

Nay, do not ask me, Sweet, if I have loved before, Or if, mayhap, in other years to be, A younger, fairer face than thine I know, I'll love her more than thee.

What should it matter if I've loved before, So that I love thee now, and love thee best? What matters it that I should love again If, first, the daisy-buds blow o'er thy breast?

Love has the waywardness of strange caprice, One can not chain it to a recreant heart, Nor, when around the soul its tendrils twine, Can will the clinging, silken bonds to part.

It is enough, I hold thee prisoned in my arms, And drink the dewy fragrance of thy breath; And earth, and heaven, and hades, are forgot, And love holds carnival, and laughs at death.

Then do not ask me, Sweet, if I have loved before, Or if some day my heart might turn from thee; In this brief hour, thou hast my soul of love, And thou are Is, and Was, and May be—all to me.