All for Love

O TALK not to me of a name great in story; 
The days of our youth are the days of our glory; 
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
Are worth all your laurels though ever so plenty.
 

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 5 
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: 
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary¡ª 
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? 

O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises  
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases 10 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
 

There chiefly I sought thee there only I found thee; 
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; 
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story 15 
I knew it was love and I felt it was glory.

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