To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
Would but some wingèd Angel, ere too late,
Arrest the yet-unfolded Roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!
Ah Love, could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits—and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!”