IV

Believe, some power higher
Breathes in us this desire
With purpose strange as fire,
And soft though seeming hard;
Who to such starved endeavor
And wasted love, that never
Seems recompensed, forever
Gives in His way reward.

BEYOND.

Hangs stormed with stars the night,
Deep over deep,
A majesty, a might,
To feel and keep.

2

Ah! what is such and such,
Love, canst thou tell?
That shrinks—though 'tis not much—
To weep farewell.

3

That hates the dawn and lark;
Would have the wail,—
Sobbed through the ceaseless dark,—
O' the nightingale.