Poems (Whitney)/C. l'e.
C. L'E.
I dwelt content with-God and loving all,
In those first years; but ere long, something strove .
Within—and, Fame, I thought, is larger love;
And love of fame, in every noble soul,
Is love of love;—and, though I missed the goal,
I could but see how, quite beyond our wills,
Some pure and deep Intelligence fulfils
Our longings in its own deep way.—My shoal
God centred in a starred, unfathomed well;
The WQorld might roar at will; 'twas charity
Merely to let it go; around me fell
Surpassing sun and air; and for earth's free,
Broad paths were slight, restraining arms so pale,
And endless kisses by the yearning sea.
In those first years; but ere long, something strove .
Within—and, Fame, I thought, is larger love;
And love of fame, in every noble soul,
Is love of love;—and, though I missed the goal,
I could but see how, quite beyond our wills,
Some pure and deep Intelligence fulfils
Our longings in its own deep way.—My shoal
God centred in a starred, unfathomed well;
The WQorld might roar at will; 'twas charity
Merely to let it go; around me fell
Surpassing sun and air; and for earth's free,
Broad paths were slight, restraining arms so pale,
And endless kisses by the yearning sea.