You smile, friend: yes; and often so would I.
My head would oft, made jealous of my heart,
Deny that reason ruled my impulses.
And oft my heart, to bear such weight of joy,
Would faint from too much feeling. I would ask
Could I be sane yet find my life so sweet?—
At least I would be sure; so like a friend
Who finds a long-lost friend amid a crowd,
And stares, and holds him at arm’s length, a time,
Ere clasping him with courage to his breast