Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/104

 O let me love my love unto myself alone, And know my knowledge to the world unknown; And worship Thee, O hid One, O much sought, As but man can or ought, Within the abstracted'st shrine of my least breathed-on thought.

Better it were, thou sayest, to consent; Feast while we may, and live ere life be spent; Close up clear eyes, and call the unstable sure, The unlovely lovely, and the filthy pure; In self-belyings, self-deceivings roll, And lose in Action, Passion, Talk, the soul.

Nay, better far to mark off thus much air, And call it Heaven: place bliss and glory there; Fix perfect homes in the unsubstantial sky, And say, what is not, will be by-and-bye.

, empty Faith, the Spectrum saith, I was, and lo, have been; I, God, am nought: a shade of thought, Which, but by darkness seen, Upon the unknown yourselves have thrown, Placed it and light between.

At morning's birth on darkened earth, And as the evening sinks, Awfully vast abroad is cast The lengthened form that shrinks And shuns the sight in midday light, And underneath you slinks.