For such as I to take or leave withal,

Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:

God for myself, He hears that name of thine,

In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures

Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.

Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine

The colors from my life, and left so dead

(The singing angels know) are only dear

To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears

Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run

Out of my face toward thine. Theres nothing low

With conscience of the new rays that proceed

Ungrateful, that for these most manifold

Can it be right to give what I can give ?

Of individual life, I shall command

Serenely in the sunshine as before,

For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;

In unexpected largesse ? am I cold,

Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land

And what I dream include thee, as the wine

What can I give thee back, O liberal

As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years

And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done

Must t九九藏书网aste of its own grapes. And when I sue

For such as I to take or leave withal,

The face of all the world is changed, I think,

Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run

In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures

Can it be right to give what I can give?

With pulses that beat double. What I do

Go farther! let it serve to trample on.

To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears

Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore

High gifts, I render nothing back at all?

Who love God, God accepts while loving so.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand

So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,

Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.

In unexpected largesse? am I cold,

Without the sense of that which I forbore--

Beloved, I only love thee ! let it pass.

And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,

So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,

That this can scarce be right! We are not peers,

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed

And laid them on the outside of the-wall

Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light

With pulses that beat double. What I do

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed

For all thy adjurations ? O my fears,

(The singing angels know) are only dear

That givers of such gifts as mine are, must

Because thy name moves right in what they say.

Nor give thee any love--which were unjust.

Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!

And what I feel, across the inferior features

High gifts, I render nothing back at all ?

God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,

Out of my face toward thine. Theres nothing low

Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.

What can I give thee back, O liberal

And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,

Alone upon the threshold of my door

Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,

Alone upon the threshold of my door

Of individual life, I shall command

I stand transfigured, glorified aright,

Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show

The names of country, heaven, are changed away

Serenely in the sunshine as before,

How that great work of Love enhances Natures.

Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole

Because thy name moves right in what they say.

Nor breathe my po9９ｌiｂ•ｎeｔison on thy Venice-glass,

That givers of such gifts as mine are, must

I stand transfigured, glorified aright,

Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul

For all thy adjurations? O my fears,

And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

And love is fire. And when I say at need

Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light

Re-sighing on my lips renunciative

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand

I will not soil thy purple with my dust,

How that great work of Love enhances Natures.

Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue

Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink

The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand

And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,

The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand

I love thee . . . mark ! . . . I love thee--in thy sight

The colours from my life, and left so dead

Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:

And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,

I love thee...mark99lib•net!...I love thee--in thy sight

Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole

And princely giver, who hast brought the gold

And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,

And love is fire. And when I say at need

Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,

Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore

Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul

Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land

Who love God, God accepts while loving so.

And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,

For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;

With conscience of the new rays that proceed

To give the same as pillow to thy head.

Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole

God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,

That this can scarce be right ! We are not peers,

Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live

Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole

And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink

Go farther ! let it serve to trample on.

To give the same as pillow to thy head.

Was caught up into love, and taught the whole

I will not soil thy purple with my dust,

Was caught up into love, and taught the whole

As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years

And what I feel, across the inferior features

And laid them on the outside of the wall

Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas !

Re-sighing on my lips renunciative

Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,

Ungrateful, that for these most manifold

Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show

Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine

The face of all the world is changed, I think,

And what I dream include thee, as the wine

God for myself, He hears that name of thine,

Without the sense of that which I forbore--

The names of country, heaven, are changed away

And princely giver, who hast brought the gold

Nor give thee any love--which were unjust.

Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live

And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done