Poems (Procter)/King and Slave
KING AND SLAVE.
F in my soul, dear, An omen should dwell,Bidding me pause, ere I love thee too well;If the whole circle Of noble and wise,With stern forebodings, Between us should rise;—I will tell them, dear, That Love reigns—a King,Where storms cannot reach him, And words cannot sting;He counts it dishonor His faith to recall;He trusts;—and forever He gives—and gives all!
I will tell thee, dear, That Love is—a Slave,Who dreads thought of freedom, As life dreads the grave;And if doubt or peril Of change there may be,Such fear would but drive him Still nearer to thee!