Is it to love, to fix the tender gaze, <br />To hide the timid blush, and steal away; <br />To shun the busy world, and waste the day <br />In some rude mountain's solitary maze? <br />Is it to chant one name in ceaseless lays, <br />To hear no words that other tongues can say, <br />To watch the pale moon's melancholy ray, <br />To chide in fondness, and in folly praise? <br />Is it to pour th' involuntary sigh, <br />To dream of bliss, and wake new pangs to prove; <br />To talk, in fancy, with the speaking eye, <br />Then start with jealousy, and wildly rove; <br />Is it to loathe the light, and wish to die? <br />For these I feel,--and feel that they are Love.<br /><br />Mary Darby Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-vi-is-it-to-love/
