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If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought -
but I dread
The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home;
No bird so wild but has its quiet nest,
When it no more would roam ;
The sleepless billows on the ocean's breast Break like a bursting heart, and die in foam,
And thus at length find rest.
Doubtless there is a place of peace
I asked her, yesterday, if she believed
That I had resolution. One who had
Would ne'er have thus relieved
His heart with words, - but what his judgment bade Would do, and leave the scorner unrelieved.
These verses are too sad
To send to you, but that I know, Happy yourself, you feel another's woe.
ONE word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
For thee to disdain it.
For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not, The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?
WHEN passion's trance is overpast,
It were enough to feel, to see,
After the slumber of the year
WILD, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one
And so she moved under the bridal veil, Which made the paleness of her cheek more pale, And deepened the faint crimson of her mouth, And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth, And of the gold and jewels glittering there She scarce felt conscious, — but the weary glare Lay like a chaos of unwelcome light, Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight.