Page:Ambarvalia - Clough (1849).djvu/107

 Perplexity that gathers still Veil over veil, fold upon fold! Like mists of rain about a lonely hill Round me that cloud contracts or is unrolled.

Come often Intimations, as it were, He still were somewhere dwelling on the earth; Some look that of his beauty hath a share, Some laugh that hath a sound of his delicious mirth!

If I no more behold thy face I know thou art not lost;—I know Christ keeps thee in a safer place, And I at heart would have it so.

I murmur not. O soul above, "Tis not my voice thou hearest groan; 'Tis sin that counterfeits my love, I but for weakness moan.

But no, thou hast a finer ear, And thou, I trust—'tis more than I dare say, Discern'st the joyful spirit singing clear Even in this miserable house of clay!