Page:Poems by Elizabeth Stoddard.djvu/55

 LOVE you, but a sense of pain Is in my heart and in my brain ; Now, when your voice and eyes are kind, May I reveal my complex mind ? Though I am yours, it is my curse Some ideal passion to rehearse : I dream of one that 's not like you, Never of one that 's half so true. To quell these yearnings, vague and wild, I often kneel by our dear child, In still, dark nights (you are asleep), And hold his hands, and try to weep.