Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/175

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And thou, still battling with the tempest's force— Thou, whose bright spirit through all time has bled— Speak, wounded Love! if penance here, or prayer, Hath laid one haunting shadow of despair?

No voice, no breath!—of conflicts past, no trace! —Doth not this hush give answer to my quest? Surely the dread religion of the place By every grief hath made its might confest! —Oh! that within my heart I could but keep Holy to Heaven, a spot thus pure, and still, and deep!