poet

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton

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by this poet

poem
  Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay!  
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers—  
Things that are made to fade and fall away  
Ere they have blossom'd for a few short hours.  
        Love not!
  
Love not! the thing ye love may change:  
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,  
The kindly-
poem
CANTO I

Moonlight is o'er the dim and heaving sea,— 
    Moonlight is on the mountain's frowning brow, 
And by their silvery fountains merrily 
    The maids of Castaly are dancing now. 
Young hearts, bright eyes, and rosy lips are there, 
    And fairy steps, and light and laughing voices, 
Ringing like
poem
I do not love thee!—no! I do not love thee!
And yet when thou art absent I am sad;
   And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

I do not love thee!—yet, I know not why,
Whate’er thou dost seems still well done, to me:
   And often in my solitude I sigh
That those