Till I would bend, and seem to plead anon
To be forgiven for forgetting her!
And then, how would I tear her traits apart;
And pluck the petals from each budding grace
And hope its naked stem some trace would show,
Too void of beauty, to suggest again
The bloom and sweetness of the life I loved.
Alas, but while I wrought for this alone,
How would her virtues but the more unfold!—
Like God’s own glory flowering in the skies,