When floods of light upon thee break,
From heav'n, a heav'n of earth to make,
And one thou needest to partake
The splendor on thee stealing;
Or when each ray of splendor dies,
And scowl upon thee gloomy skies,
And one thou need'st to sympathize
With desolated feeling;
Or when thou look'st around mankind,
Nor one among them all canst find
Who has with thine a kindred mind,
When earth to thee is drearest;
When all deny affection's balm
The fever of thy soul to calm,
Oh! then remember where I am!
Oh! think upon me, dearest!

But sure it cannot be decreed
Protection thou shouldst ever need,
Or sympathy;— thy virtues, plead
So well for thee with heaven,
Its blessings only will descend,
And earth no less will thee befriend, ——
Ah! that I might as well depend,
Upon the hope, that given
To me a thought of thine can be,
While all around thee worship thee!
But if thou him shouldst wish to see
Whose ardour is sincerest;
Whose ev'ry fondest thought is thine,—
Whose heart is bleeding at thy shrine,—
Who life would for thy sake resign,—
Oh! think upon me, dearest!

Shall one be sorrowful because of love,
Which hath no earthly crown,
Which lives and dies, unknown?
Because no words of his shall ever move
Her maiden heart to own
Him lord and destined master of her own:
Is Love so weak a thing as this,
Who can not lie awake,
Solely for his own sake,
For lack of the dear hands to hold, the lips to kiss,
A mere heart-ache?

Nay, though love's victories be great and sweet,
Nor vain and foolish toys,
His crowned, earthly joys,
Is there no comfort then in love's defeat?
Because he shall defer,
For some short span of years all part in her,
Submitting to forego
The certain peace which happier lovers know;
Because he shall be utterly disowned,
Nor length of service bring
Her least awakening:
Foiled, frustrate and alone, misunderstood discrowned,
Is Love less King?

Grows not the world to him a fairer place,
How far soever his days
Pass from his lady's ways,
From mere encounter with her golden face?
Though all his sighing be vain,
Shall he be heavy-hearted and complain?
Is she not still a star,
Deeply to be desired, worshipped afar,
A beacon-light to aid
From bitter-sweet delights, Love's masquerade?
Though he lose many things,
Though much he miss:
The heart upon his heart, the hand that clings,
The memorable first kiss;
Love that is love at all,
Needs not an earthly coronal;
Love is himself his own exceeding great reward,
A mighty lord!

Lord over life and all the ways of breath,
Mighty and strong to save
From the devouring grave;
Yea, whose dominion doth out-tyrant death,
Thou who art life and death in one,
The night, the sun;
Who art, when all things seem:
Foiled, frustrate and forlorn, rejected of to-day
Go with me all my way,
And let me not blaspheme.