I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—
The thought of thee—and in the blue Heaven’s height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.
This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
(22 September 1847 - 27 November 1922)