450
KNICKERBOCKER GALLERY.
Because I love you more than I love Heaven
Heaven has no mercy. All my heart's fond caring
Was for your eyes' sweet light, that now is riven,
And I grope on in darkness and despairing.
Hear me, oh God! if there await no morrow,
If for our severed hearts, there is no meeting,
If still must fall in tempests all this sorrow,
(No sorrow whiles I held you from its beating!)
Then let the hills, in avalanches turning,
Engulf me in their centres; with her features,
Dear, though so cold, on mine, into that burning
I would go down, with all the meaner creatures,
Calmly into extinction; but desiring
That as I bore what was her form, in blindness,
She would in it relive, for my expiring,
And thrill my panting, sinking soul, with kindness.
Heaven has no mercy. All my heart's fond caring
Was for your eyes' sweet light, that now is riven,
And I grope on in darkness and despairing.
Hear me, oh God! if there await no morrow,
If for our severed hearts, there is no meeting,
If still must fall in tempests all this sorrow,
(No sorrow whiles I held you from its beating!)
Then let the hills, in avalanches turning,
Engulf me in their centres; with her features,
Dear, though so cold, on mine, into that burning
I would go down, with all the meaner creatures,
Calmly into extinction; but desiring
That as I bore what was her form, in blindness,
She would in it relive, for my expiring,
And thrill my panting, sinking soul, with kindness.
Ah! from that verge of Death's dark boundless ocean,
As I the cliffs from life and hope descended,
Could I look back and know that your devotion
Not with your glory or my gloom is ended—
Hear the old tones, see in the eyes old feelings,
While, for one moment, on my own the pressing
Of your dear lips: O Heavan! those wild revealings
Should turn this blast to an immortal blessing.
Then, O ye surges, that are now entombing
The ever-dying in your caverns dreary,
Then I could hear all unappalled your booming,
Nor of your crowding horrors ever weary—
With the last effort of each sense receiving
The truth that should be foil against your powers,
Brave your strange boiling, roaring, and upheaving,
Leap to your horrors as to seas of flowers!
As I the cliffs from life and hope descended,
Could I look back and know that your devotion
Not with your glory or my gloom is ended—
Hear the old tones, see in the eyes old feelings,
While, for one moment, on my own the pressing
Of your dear lips: O Heavan! those wild revealings
Should turn this blast to an immortal blessing.
Then, O ye surges, that are now entombing
The ever-dying in your caverns dreary,
Then I could hear all unappalled your booming,
Nor of your crowding horrors ever weary—
With the last effort of each sense receiving
The truth that should be foil against your powers,
Brave your strange boiling, roaring, and upheaving,
Leap to your horrors as to seas of flowers!
