Xxiii

Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead, Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ? And would the sun for thee more coldly shine Because of grave-damps falling round my head ? I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine-- But . . . so much to thee ? Can I pour thy wine While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. Then, love me, Love ! look on me--breathe on me ! As brighter ladies do not count it strange, For love, to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee !