The Watcher

If I could tell how tender are the sighs Of that most lovely Lady who was mine And now is set in heaven for a sign, And yet seems here, lives, feels, walks, loves and cries, A giant in your breast desire would rise! She comes, by some swift sympathy divine, Whenever on my lonely road I pine, Faint or turn back, pause where the wrong road lies: “Straight up, towards Heaven, is the way to go;” Her soft phrase, low and wistful, ends in prayer, In thoughts celestial that are all her own: And then I vow the mighty things I dare, Strong in the sweetness which doth pierce me so, Yea, would have power to draw tears from a stone.