Analysis of To M. S. G.

Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
   Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
   Alas! it were---unhallow'd bliss.

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
   How could I dwell upon its snows!
Yet, is the daring wish represt,
   For that,---would banish its repose.

A glance from thy soul-searching eye
   Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
Yet, I conceal my love,---and why?
   I would not force a painful tear.

I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
   Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
And shall I plead my passion now,
   To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?

No! for thou never canst be mine,
   United by the priest's decree:
By any ties but those divine,
   Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.

Then let the secret fire consume,
   Let it consume, thou shalt not know:
With joy I court a certain doom,
   Rather than spread its guilty glow.

I will not ease my tortur'd heart,
   By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine;
Rather than such a sting impart,
   Each thought presumptuous I resign.

Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
   More than I here shall dare to tell;
Thy innocence and mine to save,---
   I bid thee now a last farewell.

Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair
   And hope no more thy soft embrace;
Which to obtain, my soul would dare,
   All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.

At least from guilt shalt thou be free,
   No matron shall thy shame reprove;
Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
   No martyr shalt thou be to love.