Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt;
      I lull a fancy trouble-tost
      With "Love's too precious to be lost,
A little grain shall not be spilt."

And in that solace can I sing,
      Till out of painful phases wrought
      There flutters up a happy thought,
Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:

Since we deserved the name of friends,
      And thine effect so lives in me,
      A part of mine may live in thee
And move thee on to noble ends.

Last modified 14 February 2010