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TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.

[Composed June, 1814. Published in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]

1. Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm—thus wert not thou;— My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks—I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine.

2. To sit and curb the soul’s mute rage Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage Of fettered grief that dares not groan, Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony.

3. Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The ... thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near—Oh! I did wake From torture for that moment’s sake.

4. Upon my heart thy accents sweet Of peace and pity fell like dew On flowers half dead;—thy lips did meet Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.

5. We are not happy, sweet! our state Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate;— Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thee and me.

6. Gentle and good and mild thou art, Nor can I live if thou appear Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be To hide the love thou feel’st for me.

NOTES: _2 wert 1839; did 1824. _3 fear 1824, 1839; yearn cj. Rossetti. _23 Their 1839; thy 1824. _30 thee]thou 1824, 1839. _32 can I 1839; I can 1824. _36 feel’st 1839; feel 1824.

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TO —.

[Published in “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition. See Editor’s Note.]

Yet look on me—take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected ray Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. Yet speak to me—thy voice is as the tone Of my heart’s echo, and I think I hear That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone Like one before a mirror, without care Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;

And yet I wear out life in watching thee; A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed Art kind when I am sick, and pity me...

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