My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few
Who fitly shalt conceive thy reasoning,
Of such hard matter dost thou entertain;
Whence, if by misadventure, chance should bring
Thee to base company (as chance may do), 5
Quite unaware of what thou dost contain,
I prithee, comfort thy sweet self again,
My last delight! tell them that they are dull,
And bid them own that thou art beautiful.

EPIPSYCHIDION.

Sweet Spirit!  Sister of that orphan one,
Whose empire is the name thou weepest on,
In my heart’s temple I suspend to thee
These votive wreaths of withered memory.

Poor captive bird! who, from thy narrow cage, 5
Pourest such music, that it might assuage
The rugged hearts of those who prisoned thee,
Were they not deaf to all sweet melody;
This song shall be thy rose:  its petals pale
Are dead, indeed, my adored Nightingale! 10
But soft and fragrant is the faded blossom,
And it has no thorn left to wound thy bosom.

High, spirit-winged Heart! who dost for ever
Beat thine unfeeling bars with vain endeavour,
Till those bright plumes of thought, in which arrayed 15
It over-soared this low and worldly shade,
Lie shattered; and thy panting, wounded breast
Stains with dear blood its unmaternal nest! 
I weep vain tears:  blood would less bitter be,
Yet poured forth gladlier, could it profit thee. 20

Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,
Veiling beneath that radiant form of Woman
All that is insupportable in thee
Of light, and love, and immortality! 
Sweet Benediction in the eternal Curse! 25
Veiled Glory of this lampless Universe! 
Thou Moon beyond the clouds!  Thou living Form
Among the Dead!  Thou Star above the Storm! 
Thou Wonder, and thou Beauty, and thou Terror! 
Thou Harmony of Nature’s art!  Thou Mirror 30
In whom, as in the splendour of the Sun,
All shapes look glorious which thou gazest on! 
Ay, even the dim words which obscure thee now
Flash, lightning-like, with unaccustomed glow;
I pray thee that thou blot from this sad song 35
All of its much mortality and wrong,
With those clear drops, which start like sacred dew
From the twin lights thy sweet soul darkens through,
Weeping, till sorrow becomes ecstasy: 
Then smile on it, so that it may not die. 40

I never thought before my death to see
Youth’s vision thus made perfect.  Emily,
I love thee; though the world by no thin name
Will hide that love from its unvalued shame. 
Would we two had been twins of the same mother! 45
Or, that the name my heart lent to another
Could be a sister’s bond for her and thee,
Blending two beams of one eternity! 
Yet were one lawful and the other true,
These names, though dear, could paint not, as is due. 50
How beyond refuge I am thine.  Ah me! 
I am not thine:  I am a part of THEE.