Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/97

 Then not to dare to see! when thy low voice, Faltering, would break its syllables, to keep My own full-tuned,—hold passion in a leash, And not leap forth and fall about thy neck, And on thy bosom, (deep-desired relief!) Rain out the heavy mist of tears, that weigh'd Upon my brain, my senses and my soul! For Love himself took part against himself To warn us off, and Duty loved of Love— O this world's curse,—beloved but hated—came Like Death betwixt thy dear embrace and mine, And crying, "Who is this? behold thy bride," She push'd me from thee. If the sense is hard To alien ears, I did not speak to these— No, not to thee, but to thyself in me: Hard is my doom and thine: thou knowest it all. Could Love part thus? was it not well to speak, To have spoken once? It could not but be well. The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good, The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill, And all good things from evil, brought the night