“OH, I HAVE THEE, ASTHORE”
Oh, I have thee, Asthore: deep at this heart
Thy presence is a fragrance subtly-rare,
As blooms exhale the midnight hour. Whate’er
I do, will, dream, aspire, achieve, thou art
My Aim, my End. Nay, more, the absolute part
Of my Soul’s life! Should hollow-eyed Despair
Clutch on me it is only that I fare
Forth thro’ the day, and barter at Life’s mart,
Yet fail to win thee home. When Truth to woo me
Comes, she arrays her in thy form; and those
Assimilate twins, Beauty and Duty, to me
Are thee and thy soft word. In toil, repose,
Asleep, awake, thy spirit whispers thro’ me;
Nor boast I hours thou dost not ope and close.