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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

My Queen

By William Winter (1836–1917)

[From Wanderers. 1889.]

HE loves not well whose love is bold!

I would not have thee come too nigh:

The sun’s gold would not seem pure gold

Unless the sun were in the sky:

To take him thence and chain him near

Would make his beauty disappear.

He keeps his state,—do thou keep thine,

And shine upon me from afar!

So shall I bask in light divine,

That falls from love’s own guiding star;

So shall thy eminence be high,

And so my passion shall not die.

But all my life will reach its hands

Of lofty longing toward thy face,

And be as one who speechless stands

In rapture at some perfect grace!

My love, my hope, my all will be

To look to heaven and look to thee!

Thy eyes will be the heavenly lights;

Thy voice the gentle summer breeze,

What time it sways, on moonlit nights,

The murmuring tops of leafy trees;

And I will touch thy beauteous form

In June’s red roses, rich and warm.

But thou thyself shall come not down

From that pure region far above;

But keep thy throne and wear thy crown,

Queen of my heart and queen of love!

A monarch in thy realm complete,

And I a monarch—at thy feet!