BELOVED spirit, whom the angels miss, While those heaven-wand'ring wings thou foldest here, Love musing on thee, Love whose shadow is fear, Divines thee born of fairer worlds than this, And fain ere long to re-assume their bliss. Stay, wingèd soul! for earth, this human sphere, Claims thee her own, her light that storms swept clear, Her righteousness that love, not peace, shall kiss. 'Twas out of time thou camest to be ours, And dead men made thee in the darkling years, Thy tenderness they bought for thee with tears, Pity with pain that nothing could requite, And all thy sweetness springs like later flowers Thick on the field of some forgotten fight. |