Page:Poems Craik.djvu/237

You; who are so diverse from me,
 And yet as much my own
As this my soul, which, formed apart,
 Dwells in its bodily throne;—

Or rather, for that perishes,
 As these our two lives are
So strangely, marvellously drawn
 Together from afar;

Till week by week and month by month
 We closer seem to grow,
As two hill streams, flushed with rich rain,
 Each into the other flow.

I swear no oaths, I tell no lies,
 Nor boast I never knew
A love-dream—we all dream in youth—
 But waking, I found you,

The real woman, whose first touch
 Aroused to highest life
My real manhood. Crown it then,
 Good angel, friend, love, wife!

Imperfect as I am, and you,
 Perchance, not all you seem,
We two together shall bind up
 Our past's bright, broken dream.