For your mute voice more mute I made,
And at your singing proffered song;
You trembled, and I was afraid--
Were pierced, I fell on the same blade--
Triumphed, and then my arm was strong.
For peace I builded on your peace,
And on your weakness mine up-piled;
Of too fond hope I made increase,
And at your smilings, as a child,
Ignorant of their cost, I smiled.

Always I fear at sight of fears,
And always weep at weeping eyes;
O my Belovéd, take my tears,
Take my sighs!

And these, and these, alas! shall be
Sorrow, and superfluity.


_WRAITH_

Mine was not equal of her trust--
As whose, my friend, as whose should be?-And
now, a panic dream of dust,
She comes to haunt the heart of me;

She comes to haunt my heart for this,
And lo, a glory of my sighs!
For still her phantom lips I kiss,