Why is there healing in her love?
Her mind is clear as streams that flow
Down rock-steps to a vale below,
Bearing on spray the Sun's bright bow,
And singing as they move.

After a grey day's forgetting
Was the red of this sun's setting,
And the ache of my regretting.

To-night my bed is a rack,
I die painful for love's lack...
O! My Beloved, come back! come back!

When I meet you, I greet you with a stare;
Like a poor shy child at a fair.
I will not let you love me — yet am I weak.
I love you so intensely that I cannot speak.
When you are gone, I stand apart,
And whisper to your image in my heart.

I wish no more that beauty walked in light,
Utterly naked to the daily sight.
O rather let some simple dress
Shelter my Woman's loveliness.
So is her beauty love's high prize,
Which I discover with adoring eyes.

I said, " I will not go to her to-night, "
When I had courage from the prudent light.
My resolution vanished with the day,
When the dark came I could not live away.
O! My dear Love, let down your hair,
Make me a tent, and let me shelter there;
That in the darkness of a screened night
I live more prudent than in loveless light.

Undone by woman, faithful records tell,
What heroes perish'd, and what monarchs fell;
From fame, from fortune, and from glory hurl'd,
Charles lost a crown, and Antony the world,
B-te, B-te, alone by female influence reigns,
And holds a nation and their — — in chains.

There is great gain,
Of pride and pain:
Let me be proud to claim the highest for my own:
Let me bear pain, to fight my claim alone.

If modest merit ever claim'd thy tear,
Behold this monument, and shed it here:
Here every blooming virtue beam'd in one,
The friend, the lover, and the duteous son.
Bless'd youth! whose bosom Nature form'd to glow
With purest flame the heart of man can know,
Go, where bright angels heavenly raptures prove,
And melt in visions of seraphic love.

When age, all-patient, and without regret,
Lies down in peace, and pays the general debt,
'Tis weakness most unmanly to deplore
The death of those who relish life no more.
But when fair youth, that every promise gave,
Sheds his sweet blossom in the blasting grave,
All eyes o'erflow with many a streaming tear,
And each sad bosom heaves the sigh sincere.

When I love most — I am turned psalmist.
I have expression from my wrong.
I bay like a ghost-scenting hound,
" Where is God hid? for I would smite him with a song. "
Come back, Jehovah,
Give me cover.
Come back, old god,
For I have lost my lover.