’Tis not enough to see thee, like a star
That rises on our sight when eve is clear,
Which all may view—but all must view afar.
’Tis not enough to watch thee, as the moon
Gazes on earth with stedfast face, but ne’er
May voice with voice exchange and intertune.
’Tis not enough to meet thee as by chance
In lighted rooms, and feign a cold repose,—
Whereas I tremble to thy slightest glance.
’Tis not enough to cross thee in the glare
Of day, when serried friends thy path inclose,—
Content the sunlight of thy smile to share.
No! I am jealous of all senseless things
That near and touch thee—of the fluttering wind
That dallies round with fond, familiar wings,
And dares to kiss thine eyes and lift the tress
From thy blue temple;—of the jewel blind
Upon thy bosom pillow’d, passionless.
And I could rend the flower that thou dost pluck,
And drink its odour with thy nostrils fine,
And taste its honey which the bee did suck.
Oh! I could kill thy sleek caressing hound
That feels thy hand, and blameless may entwine
Thy foot, whene’er he choose to bound.
For I would have thee, as the miser hoards
His idol gold, lock’d close with ponderous key,
In chest of brazen bands round ebon boards.
I could not rest until with sails unfurl’d
I bore my treasure o’er the secret sea,
To some oasis of the desert world.
Because I want thee ALL;—and nothing less
Than thy whole being would my heart suffice,—
Thee and thy love entire I must possess.
No jot withheld,—no atom of thy love
Passing the sphere of adamantine ice,
Within whose vault we must in oneness move.