Made worthy by excess of Love
A wretch thro' power of Happiness,
And poor from wealth, I dare not use.

This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear:
O take my Life, or let me pass
That Life, that happy Life, with her!

The dazzling charm of outward Form,
The power of Gold, the pride of Birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm,
Supplied the place of inward worth.

Is not true Love of higher price,
Than outward Form, tho' fair to see,
Wealth's glitt'ring fairy-dome of Ice,
Or echo of proud Ancestry?

Two wedded Hearts, if e'er were such,
Imprison'd in adjoining cells
Across whose thin partition wall
The Builder left one narrow rent,
And there most content in discontent
A Joy with itself at strife,
Die into an intenser Life/

Another Version

The Builder left one narrow rent,
Two wedded Hearts, if e'er were such,
Contented most in discontent
There cling, and try in vain to touch!
O Joy with thy own Joy at Strife,
That yearning for the Realm above
Would'st die into intenser Life,
And union absolute of Love.

The singing Kettle & the purring Cat,
The gentle Breathing of the cradled Babe,
The silence of the Mother's love-bright Eye,
And tender Smile answ'ring its smile of Sleep.

Come, come, thou bleak December Wind,
And blow the dry Leaves from the Tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro' me, Death
And take a Life, that wearies me.

I have heard of reasons manifold
Why Love must needs be blind,
But this the best of all I hold--
His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
But that within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.

I

Oh Love, Love, thou that from the eyes diffusest
Yearning, and on the soul sweet grace inducest—
Souls against whom thy hostile march is made—
Never to me be manifest in ire,
Nor, out of time and tune, my peace invade!
Since neither from the fire—
No, nor the stars—is launched a bolt more mighty
Than that of Aphrodité
Hurled from the hands of Love, the boy with Zeus for sire.

II

Idly, how idly, by the Alpheian river

O! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,
When streams of light pour down the golden west,
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds, far — far away to leave
All meaner thoughts, and take a sweet reprieve
From little cares; to find, with easy quest,
A fragrant wild, with Nature's beauty dressed,
And there into delight my soul deceive.
There warm my breast with patriotic lore,
Musing on Milton's fate — on Sidney's bier —
Till their stern forms before my mind arise:
Perhaps on the wing of Poesy upsoar,

How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound,
Not further to be found,

Gather up
In the arms of your pity
The sick, the depraved,
The desperate, the tired,
All the scum
Of our weary city

Gather up
In the arms of your pity.
Gather up
In the arms of your love—
Those who expect
No love from above.

Time ! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die —

Hail thou! who on my birth bestow'd
Those boons to all that know thee known
Yet better I sustain thy load,
For now I bear the weight alone.

I would not one fond heart should share
The bitter moments thou hast given;
And pardon thee, since thou couldst spare
All that I loved, to peace or heaven.

To them be joy or rest, on me
Thy future ills shall press in vain: