Chapter LI

For each long league that bears me far from thee
Doth seem to take life’s blood from out my veins,
As every yearning hour that passeth drains
The spring of my affection, that might be
O’erflowing with love’s precious remedy.
Ah me! This is a grievous fate that stains
Love’s half-possessed ambition, and remains
To overshadow all that rests of me!
Loved one, I find not, as the world I roam,
A spirit half so comforting as thine,
Ev’n in thy moments of most wilful charm,
None that would half so fittingly my home
Grace with its presence, or from whose eyes shine
A sweeter light, while giving love’s alarm.