A wife may-be, a mother she
In Hymen’s shrine recalls not now,
She first in hour, ah, not profane,
With me to Hymen learnt to bow.
Ah no!—Yet owned we, fused in one,
The Power which e’en in stones and earths
By blind elections felt, in forms
Organic breeds to myriad births;
By lichen small on granite wall
Approved, its faintest feeblest stir