Drinks dew and light, and pays them back in beauty.
And if—ah heaven! these tears are love’s, not grief’s—
And if some higher ministry than mine,
Or some more genial nature, bless thee more,
Wrong not thyself, or me, or love, or truth,
By shrinking weakly from thy destiny.
I would not owe to pitying tenderness
The joy with which thy presence lights my life.
Thou shalt still love all that is thine, dear friend,
In my true soul—all that is right and great;