I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the thought that
lurks in all delight
- The thought of thee - and in the blue Heaven's height,
And
in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, lust beyond the fairest thoughts that
throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
But it must
never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But
when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long
watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as
raiment laid away,
- With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run,
I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
