“You find me moody!” sigh’d I; “and complain;
Deem moods not meet. Oh, no they prove we feel!—
Nor pious they: they prove we think!”
L.
And yet,
I could but blame myself; so fain to draw
This gentler soul from her still streams of life
Toward waves thus fiercely dash’d about my own!
You know, though, how it is: our thought, like light,
Opposed, will vaunt itself; and brightest play,