a love poem.
153
Should tend through every stage of life
To thee, its first, its last?
To thee, its first, its last?
X.
Since that primeval moment, when
From discord God's own breath
Evoked one concord, perfect then
Of Love, and Life, and Death,
Till now, I know I found thee not
In my long drought of heart;
And, found too late, our lives but met
To sever and to part.
From discord God's own breath
Evoked one concord, perfect then
Of Love, and Life, and Death,
Till now, I know I found thee not
In my long drought of heart;
And, found too late, our lives but met
To sever and to part.
XI.
But yet was I made man for this,
For this that Cross was mine.
The mortal failed to reach his bliss,
Not so shall the Divine!
And yet—and yet—my human love
Still vainly, fondly sighs;
I pine to touch thy hand, thy cheek,
To kiss thy lips, thine eyes.
For this that Cross was mine.
The mortal failed to reach his bliss,
Not so shall the Divine!
And yet—and yet—my human love
Still vainly, fondly sighs;
I pine to touch thy hand, thy cheek,
To kiss thy lips, thine eyes.
