Poems (Cromwell)/Separation
For works with similar titles, see Separation.
SEPARATION
When intervals of solitude are done,
Or nearly done, what brimming utmost bliss!
My wings disturb my lonely chrysalis
To go to thee! I open one by one,
To ease delight, thy casements to the sun;
Prepare thy chamber where thy follies miss
Thee, too; then tip-toe with my treasured kiss,
And love that weighs my thrilling breast, I run
To meet thy doming;—pause in sweet suspense
Too soon upon the doorstep—else delay;
I almost see thee—balm to aching sight!
What gladness, mingling with an equal sense
Of soaring desolation, lest thou stay
And leave the house and me deserted quite!
Or nearly done, what brimming utmost bliss!
My wings disturb my lonely chrysalis
To go to thee! I open one by one,
To ease delight, thy casements to the sun;
Prepare thy chamber where thy follies miss
Thee, too; then tip-toe with my treasured kiss,
And love that weighs my thrilling breast, I run
To meet thy doming;—pause in sweet suspense
Too soon upon the doorstep—else delay;
I almost see thee—balm to aching sight!
What gladness, mingling with an equal sense
Of soaring desolation, lest thou stay
And leave the house and me deserted quite!