Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/16

8

Hath not thy love been victory, O, my soul? Hath not its conflict won a voice to shake Death's fastnesses?—a magic to control Worlds far removed?—from o'er the grave to thee Love hath made answer; and thy tale should be Sung like a lay of triumph!—Now return, And take thy treasure from its bosom'd urn, And lift it once to light!

In fear, in pain, I said I loved—but yet a heavenly strain Of sweetness floated down the tearful stream, A joy flash'd through the trouble of my dream! I knew myself beloved!—we breathed no vow, No mingling visions might our fate allow, As unto happy hearts; but still and deep, Like a rich jewel gleaming in a grave, Like golden sand in some dark river's wave, So did my soul that costly knowledge keep So jealously!—a thing o'er which to shed, When stars alone beheld the drooping head,