thou comest! all is said without a word.

i sit beneath thy looks, as children do

in the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through

their happy eyelids from an unaverred

yet prodigal inward joy. behold, i erred

in that last doubt! and yet i cannot rue

the sin most, but the occasion—that we two

should for a moment stand unministered

by a mutual presence. ah, keep near and close,

thou dove-like help! and when my fears would rise,

with thy broad heart serenely interpose:

brood down with thy divine sufficiencies

these thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,

like callow birds left desert to the skies.