Still onward winds the dreary way;
      I with it; for I long to prove
      No lapse of moons can canker Love,
Whatever fickle tongues may say.

And if that eye which watches guilt
      And goodness, and hath power to see
      Within the green the moulder'd tree,
And towers fall'n as soon as built —

Oh, if indeed that eye foresee
      Or see (in Him is no before)
      In more of life true life no more
And Love the indifference to be,

Then might I find, ere yet the morn
      Breaks hither over Indian seas,
      That Shadow waiting with the keys,
To shroud me from my proper scorn.


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Last modified 14 February 2010