Had that gardener never been born or hir'd,
Or done this one insignificant thing;
Had the passion-flower died;--my heart is tir'd
With the troublesome sudden thoughts that spring;
And mine eyes are filling with foolish tears,
And the pang that I feel is sharp and keen,
As I see the empty unhappy years,
And I think of all that might _not_ have been.

* * * * *

Treason to love, that such thoughts should arise!
In Heaven I _know_ our marriage was made;
Heaven _is_ somewhere beyond those blue skies,
Why am I weeping and feeling afraid?

Happy the angels, who tenderly plan
These beautiful compacts to glorify man!
Happy the man and the woman who take
Humbly their crown for the dear angels' sake!

Love in our hearts giving strength to endure,
Eternal itself, makes eternity sure;
Earth growing perfect, unspeakably dear,
Only makes heaven seem yet more near.

Why do I tremble in fanciful doubt?
All things--or nothing--had brought it about;
Whatever might happen, _I must_ be his;