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Much too perhaps in thinking I might have thee Nearly myself, a fellow soul to live with. But, weighing well man's frail and perilous tenure Of all good in the restless, wavy world, Ne'er dared I set my soul on any thing Which but a touch of time can shake to pieces. Alone in the eternal is my hope. Took I thee? that intensest joy of love Would soon grow fainter and at last dissolve. But, if I yield thee, there is something done Which from the crumbling earth my soul divorces, And gives it room to be a greater spirit. There is a greater pang, methinks, in nature When she takes back the life of a dead world, Than when a new one severs from her depth Its bright, revolving birth. So I'll not hoard thee, But let thee part, reluctant, though in hope That greater happiness will thence arise. Back Home |