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And now it is too late ; the very thing
That gives thee boldness takes my power away.
"Because I die, I tell thee," said thy lips;
And mine can only close on them with tears.

How shall I serve thee ? how can I compress
The joy of our lost years into this space ?
Would thou couldst take me with thee on thy flight,
To follow thee, and serve as thou hast served.

Hast thou no wishes, nothing I can do ?
One thing? Declare it. That I keep my soul
Unspotted, train it for the highest things,
And hold myself as precious for thy sake ?
I promise it.

But for thyself, dear, — now that thou dost stand
With heaven in one hand, is there no gift
Thine other could receive ? Command me, dear ;
I am all thine.

One thing ? Thine epitaph upon my heart ?
It shall be graven there, burnt in and in :
Tell it me, I repeat it after thee,
"I truly might have loved him had I known."