Now drops in the abyss a day of life:
I count my twelve hours’ gain;—
Tired senses? vain desires? a baffled strife,
Vexed heart and beating brain?
Ten pages traversed by a languid eye?
—Nay, but one moment’s space
I gazed into the soul of the blue sky;
Rare day! O day of grace!
V
She kissed me on the forehead,
She spoke not any word,
The silence flowed between us,
And I nor spoke nor stirred.
So hopeless for my sake it was,
So full of ruth, so sweet,
My whole heart rose and blessed her,
—Then died before her feet.
VI
Nay, more! yet more, for my lips are fain;
No cups for a babe; I ask the whole
Deep draught that a God could hardly drain,
—Wine of your soul.
Pour! for the goblet is great I bring,
Not worthless, rough with youths at strife,
And men that toil and women that sing,
—It is all my life.