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O SAY, if into sudden storm Some future cloud we may not shun Should burst, and Love’s bright world deform, His and your Poet leaving one Scorning and scorned of heartless men,— Belov’ed, would you love me then?
Stung by the world’s eternal guile,
Should long, long years of absence scowl . . . . .Hence however—ever skilful Be the wit that like a gem, Would supremely richen them, They will sometimes take offence At the very brightest sense, As though for happy spite they meant To clothe delight with discontent. . . . . .Are dusking into one Featureless Mightiness gloomed up with dun, And in the solitude of heaven afar There shineth a sole star: Even so the memory of one adored With all Affection’s hoard Of golden feelings treasured up for truth In vain throughout our youth, A far bright mystery, still shines apart O’er the wide vacancy of Love’s lone heart! |