These loud mutations others fear
    Find me high-fortressed ’gainst dismay,
  They trouble not the tranquil sphere
    That hallows with immortal ray
    The world where love and lovers stray
  In glittering gardens soft with dew—­
    O let them break and burn and slay,
  So that there be no change in you.

  Let rapine its republics rear,
    And murder its red sceptre sway,
  Their blood-stained riot comes not near
    The quiet haven where we pray,
    And work and love and laugh and play;
  Unchanged, our skies are ever blue,
    Nothing can change, for all they say,—­
  So that there be no change in you.

  Envoi

  Princess, let wild men brag and bray,
    The pure, the beautiful, the true. 
  Change not, and changeless we as they—­
    So that there be no change in you.

  Love’s arithmetic

  You often ask me, love, how much I love you,
    Bidding my fancy find
    An answer to your mind;
  I say:  “Past count, as there are stars above you.” 
    You shake your head and say,
    “Many and bright are they,
  But that is not enough.”

        Again I try: 
  “If all the leaves on all the trees
    Were counted over,
  And all the waves on all the seas,
    More times your lover,
  Yea! more than twice ten thousand times am I.” 
    “’Tis not enough,” again you make reply.

  “How many blades of grass,” one day I said,
    “Are there from here to China? how many bees
    Have gathered honey through the centuries? 
  Tell me how many roses have bloomed red
    Since the first rose till this rose in your hair? 
    How many butterflies are born each year? 
    How many raindrops are there in a shower? 
    How many kisses, darling, in an hour?”
  Thereat you smiled, and shook your golden head;
  “Ah! not enough!” you said. 
  Then said I:  “Dear, it is not in my power
    To tell how much, how many ways, my love;
  Unnumbered are its ways even as all these,
    Nor any depth so deep, nor height above,
  May match therewith of any stars or seas.” 
  “I would hear more,” you smiled . . .

        “Then, love,” I said,
  “This will I do:  unbind me all this gold
    Too heavy for your head,
    And, one by one, I’ll count each shining thread,
  And when the tale of all its wealth is told . . .” 
    “As much as that!” you said—­
  “Then the full sum of all my love I’ll speak,
    To the last unit tell the thing you ask . . .” 
    Thereat the gold, in gleaming torrents shed,
  Fell loose adown each cheek,
    Hiding you from me; I began my task.

  “’Twill last our lives,” you said.

  Beauty’s wardrobe

  My love said she had nought to wear;
    Her garments all were old,
  And soon her body must go bare
    Against the winter’s cold.