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Jules Frédéric Ballavoine - Youth


Jules Frédéric Ballavoine - Youth



Jules Frédéric Ballavoine - Youth
Identifier: lovepoemsfromwor00brow (find matches)
Title: Love poems from the works of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning;
Year: 1909 (1900s)
Authors: Browning, Robert, 1812-1889 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1806-1861 Harris, Ethel, editor
Publisher: Chicago, New York, Rand, McNally & company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

Text Appearing Before Image:
r cheeks, five months agoSet blushing at thy praises so. Put paleness on for a disguise.Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go! For if my face is turned too pale. It was thine oath that first did fail,—It was thy love proved false and frail,—And why, since these be changed enow, Should / change less than thou ? —Elizabeth ^arrett frowning T^W^ WTW. ^c^=. LOVE POEMS 33 ^n^ Hobe \17E cannot live, except thus mutuallyWe alternate, aware or unaware,The reflex act of life: and when we bearOur virtue outward most impulsively,Most full of invocation, and to beMost instantly compellant, certes thereWe live most life, whoever breathes most airAnd counts his dying years by sun and sea.But when a soul, by choice and conscience, dothThrow out her full force on another soul.The conscience and the concentration bothMake mere life, Love. For Life in perfect wholeAnd aim consummated, is Love in sooth,As Natures magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.—Elizabeth ^arrett frowning :m :■-.- AiJV/A^- -^^
Text Appearing After Image:
Youth J. F. BallavoineIf one could have that little head of hersPainted upon a background of pale gold. -^ —. i;,Jllll;^^>/JI,i;ll;l7;l^^;.f,,;;t Cv vtj ^^ .^.^^^;^^^^lS&:^fcC(^^^ W-.-tv- %Jfc^«i€L M LOVE POEMS 35 ,* wn. ^ mm. WM fc?^ Jfrom Bramatis; ^er^onae A FACE T F one could have that Kttle head of hers Painted upon a background of pale gold, Such as the Tuscans early art prefers! No shade encroaching on the matchless mold Of those two lips, which should be opening softIn the pure profile ; not as when she laughs, For that spoils all: but rather as if aloft Yon hyacinth, she loves so, leaned its staffs Burthen of honey-colored buds to kiss And capture twixt the lips apart for this. Then her lithe neck, three fingers might surround, How it should waver on the pale gold ground Up to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it lifts ! I know, Correggio loves to mass, in rifts Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on orb Breaking its outline, burning shades absorb: But these are only mas





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