No shuddering kisses pressed upon my lip, "Twixt fear and passion no bold words that strip The feigning garb off in which we two stand, Acting our parts, at the harsh world's commandNo deed that offers to our dust a sip
To wring a tear, yet calmly bear the brand, For the great love through which we were betrayed! Love flies with us on sorely crippled wings: Prudence, and interest, and the bitter stings Of shrewd distrust, are doled me. I am made A beggar on your bounty. Lend me aid: My heart starves, lady, on these wretched things.
DOUBT is the offspring of a self-distrust,
The coward mood of a desponding mind,
The treacherous pathway o'er which fancy, blind
To love's clear pointings, treads, as o'er the crust
Of a most faithless quicksand; 'tis the rust
Upon truth's shield, the blemish that we find
Upon a mirror, carelessly designed,
Distorting nature into shapes unjust,
And making all things that within it move,
Move in confusion, falsely and awry.
Doubt is the lees of thought, the dregs that lie
Beyond the bounds which reason reigns above,
Baffling the keenness of his sun-bright eye;-
Yea, doubt is anything- but honest love.
As at an altar, love, behold me kneel
Thus at thy feet. Too solemn for a lie
My awful action, and thy bended eye,
Whose searching power I cannot choose but feel.
And here, thus lowly, all that might conceal
My heart from thee I sunder and cast by;
Courting thy notice, begging thee to pry
Through all my nature, till the whole reveal
Itself to thee. Then say if thou dost find
One hint of falsehood, one poor thought to breed Doubt, or doubt's shadow, in thy candid mind? Ah, no! I love thee; and my sorest need Is trust from thee, a patient trust, resigned To face all ills, and triumph though it bleed.
I DO assure thee, love, each kiss of thine
Adds to my stature, makes me more a man,
Lightens my care, and draws the bitter wine
That I was drugged with, while my nature ran
Its slavish course. For didst not thou untwine
My cunning fetters? break the odious ban,
That quite debased me? free this heart of mine,
And deck my chains with roses? While I can
I'll chant thy praises, till the world shall ring
With thy great glory; and the heaping store
Of future honors, for the songs I sing,
Shall miss thy poet, at thy feet to pour
A juster tribute, as the gracious spring
To win and lose thee! In one hour to say,
"Lo! love is mine!" and ere the dazzled mind
Can know the fulness of its bliss, or find
Its conscious vision lifted o'er the sway
Of raging passion — while the heart, a prey
To aching sense, is shrunken and grown blind
With too much light-to hear from every wind
Hissed in my ear, "Lo! love has flown away!"
As if some careless angel left apart
Heaven's golden doors, and I had seen within The radiant saints, and heard the holy din Of choral triumph, ere with jealous start
The gates shot backward, closing my sad heart, With that bright memory, in a world of sin.
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