The Wish

That you might happier be than all the rest, Than I who have been happy loving you, Of all the innocent even the happiest— This I beseeched for you. Until I thought of those unending skies— Of stagnant cloud, or fleckless dull blue air, Of days and nights delightless, no surprise, No threat, no sting, no fear; And of the stirless waters of the mind, Waveless, unfurrowed, of no living hue, With dead eaves dropping slowly in no wind, And nothing flowering new. And then no more I wished you happiness, But that whatever fell of joy or woe I would not dare, O Sweet, to wish it less, Or wish you less than you.