And I confess that, while this light of love
Plays lambent round so many glowing lips,
I feel as chill, and lost, and out of place,
As one lone dew-drop, prison’d in a shade
Of universal noon.”
“The sun,” said I,
“Will free it, by and by. Our time will come.”
“Must come,” replied he, “or I go to it.
Henceforth, let beauty’s beams but gleam for me,
I shall not shun them, as has been my wont,