Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/14

 I am made one with these indeed, And give them all the love they need— Such love as they would have of me: But in my heart—ah, let it be!— I think of it when none is nigh— There is a love they shall not see; For it I live—for it will die.

And oft-times, though I share their joys, And seem to praise them with my voice, Do I not celebrate my own, Ay, down in some far inward zone Of thoughts in which they have no part? Do I not feel—ah, quite alone With all the secret of my heart?

O when the shroud of night is spread On these, as Death is on the dead, So that no sight of them shall mar The blessèd rapture of a star— Then I draw forth those thoughts at will; And like the stars those bright thoughts are; And boundless seems the heart they fill: