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THE POET LOVERS.

Like the fullness of that gladness
Is the wildness of this pain!
I was artless when you sought me;
I was but a dreaming child;
But you woke my inner spirit
To devotion deep and wild.
On the altar in my bosom—
Laid I down my priceless trust—
But the holy shrine is broken.
And the gift lies in the dust!
Not as others I esteemed thee,
But so gifted and so grand.
That upon thy placid forehead
Did I fear to lay my hand;
And my love and reverence blended
With a radiance purer far,
Than the light yet undescended
From the circle of a star.
In one glorious river gliding,
Ev'ry word and every thought,
In its bosom jewels hiding,
To thy soul's deep fountain brought
All the wealth of my affection,
All emotions pure and deep,—
As all waves in one direction
To the ocean onward sweep.
I blessed you when you held my hands,
And looked into my face;
I blessed you when you folded me
In a mute, hushed embrace;
I blessed you when your fervid lips
Were pressed upon my brow;
I loved you—but oh! agony!
I dare not love you now!
Why did they come, those dearest ones.
And whisper in my ear
The words of fearful meaning,