I. <br /> <br />Nay but you, who do not love her, <br /> Is she not pure gold, my mistress? <br />Holds earth aught---speak truth---above her? <br /> Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, <br />And this last fairest tress of all, <br /> So fair, see, ere I let it fall? <br /> <br /> II. <br /> <br />Because, you spend your lives in praising; <br /> To praise, you search the wide world over: <br />Then why not witness, calmly gazing, <br /> If earth holds aught---speak truth---above her? <br />Above this tress, and this, I touch <br /> But cannot praise, I love so much!<br /><br />Robert Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-10/
