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Joy to have merited the pain To merit the release. Joy to have perished every step To compass thee at last.
Pardon to look upon thy face With these old-fashioned eyes — Better than new could be, for that, Tho’ bought in Paradise —
Because they looked on thee before And thou hadst looked on them — Prove me, my hazel witnesses, The features are the same.
So fleet thou wert when present, So infinite when gone — An Orient’s apparition Remanded of the morn.
The height I recollect T was ever with the hills, The depth upon my soul Was notched As floods on whites of wheels.
To haunt till Time has Dropped His slow decade away, And haunting actualize To last At least, Eternity.
