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II.
She said, the Poet's love!
A star upon a turbid tide,
Reflected from above.
A marvel here, a glory there,
But clouds will intervene,
And garish earthly noon outglare
The purity serene.
I give thee joy! O worthy word!
Congratulate—A courtier fine,
Transacts, politely shuffling by,
The civil ceremonial lie,
Which, quickly spoken, barely heard,
Can never hope, nor e'en design
To give thee joy!
I give thee joy! O faithful word!
When heart with heart, and mind with mind
Shake-hands; and eyes in outward sign
Of inward vision, rest in thine;
And feelings simply, truly stirred,
Emphatic utterance seek to find,
And give thee joy!
