my own belov?d, who hast lifted me

from this drear flat of earth where i was thrown,

and, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown

a life-breath, till the forehead hopefully

shines out again, as all the angels see,

before thy saving kiss! my own, my own,

who camest to me when the world was gone,

and i who looked for only god, found thee!

i find thee; i am safe, and strong, and glad.

as one who stands in dewless asphodel,

looks backward on the tedious time he had

in the upper life,—so i, with bosom-swell,

make witness, here, between the good and bad,

that love, as strong as death, retrieves as well.