Thou comest! all is said without a word.

I sit beneath thy looks, as children do In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through Their happy eyelids from an unaverred Yet prodigal inward joy.Behold, I erred In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue The sin most, but the occasion--that we two Should for a moment stand unministered By a mutual presence.Ah, keep near and close, Thou dove-like help! and when my fears would rise, With thy broad heart serenely interpose:

Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those, Like callow birds left desert to the skies.