Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
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Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
 
To ———.
2. “Nay, chide me not that I am jealous, love”
By H.
 
NAY, chide me not that I am jealous, love;
  For in my doting fondness I am grown
  A very miser of the beauties thrown
Profusely round thee from the gods above:
I ’m even jealous of the pliant glove        5
  Embracing oft thy slight and fairy hand,
  And of sly Zephyr, with his whisper bland,
Who steals a-wooing from the budding grove,
And dallies o’er thy cheek with soft caress,
  And of the ray that trembles as it glows        10
Upon thy fresh lips’ loveliness;—
  For that dear hand I would with mine enclose,
And lip and cheek I would were mine alone,
And mine the only heart that thou wouldst wish to own.
 
 
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