Nay but you, who do not love her, Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught -- speak truth -- above her? Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, And this last fairest tress of all, So fair, see, ere I let it fall? Because, you spend your lives in praising; To praise, you search the wide world over: Then why not witness, calmly gazing, If earth holds aught -- speak truth -- above her? Above this tress, and this, I touch But cannot praise, I love so much!
Song Cycle by Edward Iles
?. Nay, but do you not love her  [sung text not yet checked]
- by Robert Browning (1812 - 1889), "Song", appears in Bells and Pomegranates, No. VII, first published 1845 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
See other settings of this text.Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]