Love's Calendar; or, Eros and Anteros - Part 14
I waited for thee — but all restless waited,
For soul like mine, it ever must be moving;
I knew one spirit with my own was mated,
Yet I mistook that restlessness for loving:
Of mine own nature an ideal created,
And loved because I only thus was fated.
Fated, bewilder'd thus in thought and feeling,
To waste the freshness of my soul away,
To see each bud of spring in turn revealing
But canker'd blooms upon a fruitless spray, —
Why marvel then in prayer I oft am kneeling,
Sweet minister of grace! to bless thy spirit-healing?
For soul like mine, it ever must be moving;
I knew one spirit with my own was mated,
Yet I mistook that restlessness for loving:
Of mine own nature an ideal created,
And loved because I only thus was fated.
Fated, bewilder'd thus in thought and feeling,
To waste the freshness of my soul away,
To see each bud of spring in turn revealing
But canker'd blooms upon a fruitless spray, —
Why marvel then in prayer I oft am kneeling,
Sweet minister of grace! to bless thy spirit-healing?
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