Here you will find the Poem Love, Dearest Lady, Such As I Would Speak of poet Thomas Hood
Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak, Lives not within the humor of the eye;? Not being but an outward phantasy, That skims the surface of a tinted cheek,? Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak, As if the rose made summer,?and so lie Amongst the perishable things that die, Unlike the love which I would give and seek: Whose health is of no hue?to feel decay With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime. Love is its own great loveliness alway, And takes new lustre from the touch of time; Its bough owns no December and no May, But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.