accuse me not, beseech thee, that i wear

too calm and sad a face in front of thine;

for we two look two ways, and cannot shine

with the same sunlight on our brow and hair.

on me thou lookest with no doubting care,

as on a bee shut in a crystalline;

since sorrow hath shut me safe in love’s divine,

and to spread wing and fly in the outer air

were most impossible failure, if i strove

to fail so. but i look on thee—on thee—

beholding, besides love, the end of love,

hearing oblivion beyond memory;

as one who sits and gazes from above,

over the rivers to the bitter sea.