The staring eye glazed o'er with sapless days, The set gray life, and apathetic end. But am I not the nobler thro' thy love? O three times less unworthy! likewise thou Art more thro' Love, and greater than thy years. Her circle. Wait, and Love himself will bring Will some one say, then why not ill for good? Why took ye not your pastime. To that man My work shall answer, since I knew the right And did it; for a man is not as God, But then most Godlike being most a man. - So let me think 'tis well for thee and me Ill-fated that I am, what lot is mine Whose foresight preaches peace, my heart so slow To feel it for how hard it seem'd to me, When eyes, love-languid thro' half-tears, would dwell One earnest, earnest moment upon mine, Then not to dare to see! when thy low voice, For Love himself took part against himself O this world's curse, - beloved but hated came Like Death betwixt thy dear embrace and mine, And crying, "Who is this? behold thy bride," If the sense is hard To alien ears, I did not speak to these No, not to thee, but to thyself in me: Hard is my doom and thine: thou knowest it all. And all things from evil, brought the night In which we sat together and alone, And to the want, that hollow'd all the heart, The trance gave way To those caresses, when a hundred times In that last kiss, which never was the last, The lights of sunset and of sunrise mix'd In that brief night; the summer night, that paused Love-charm'd to listen: all the wheels of Time O then like those, that clench their nerves to rush Upon their dissolution, we two rose, There closing like an individual life In one blind cry of passion and of pain, Like bitter accusation ev'n to death, Caught up the whole of love and utter'd it, And bade adieu for ever. Shall sharpest pathos blight us, knowing all Life needs for life is possible to will Live happy! tend thy flowers: be tended by Far calmer hours in memory's darkest hold, Beyond the fair green field and eastern sea. ULYSSES. IT little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those |