Explore "Nay but you, who do not Love Her" by Robert Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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!