The lady of my love bids me not love her. <br />I can but bow obedient to her will; <br />And so, henceforth, I love her not; but still <br />I love the lustrous hair that glitters over <br />Her proud young head; I love the smiles that hover <br />About her mouth; the lights and shades that fill <br />Her star-bright eyes; the low, rich tones that thrill <br />Like thrush-songs gurgling from a vernal cover. <br />I love the fluttering dimples in her cheek; <br />Her cheek I love, its soft and tender bloom; <br />I love her sweet lips and the words they speak, <br />Words wise or witty, full of joy or doom. <br />I love her shoes, her gloves, her dainty dress; <br />And all they clasp, and cling to, and caress.<br /><br />John Hay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/obedience-2/
