Pauline, mine own, bend o'er me--thy soft breast Shall pant to mine--bend o'er me--thy sweet eyes, And loosened hair and breathing lips, and arms Drawing me to thee--these build up a screen To shut me in with thee, and from all fear; So that I might unlock the sleepless brood Of fancies from my soul, their lurking-place, Nor doubt that each would pass, ne'er to return To one so watched, so loved and so secured. But what can guard thee but thy naked love? Ah dearest, whoso sucks a poisoned wound Envenoms his own veins! Thou art so good, So calm--if thou shouldst wear a brow less light For some wild thought which, but for me, were kept From out thy soul as from a sacred star! Yet till I have unlocked them it were vain To hope to sing; some woe would light on me; Nature would point at one whose quivering lip Was bathed in her enchantments, whose brow burned Beneath the crown to which her secrets knelt, Who learned the spell which can call up the dead, And then departed smiling like a fiend Who has deceived God,--if such one should seek Again her altars and stand robed and crowned Amid the faithful! Sad confession first, Remorse and pardon and old claims renewed, Ere I can be--as I shall be no more. I had been spared this shame if I had sat By thee forever from the first, in place Of my wild dreams of beauty and of good, Or with them, as an earnest of their truth: No thought nor hope having been shut from thee, No vague wish unexplained, no wandering aim Sent back to bind on fancy's wings and seek Some strange fair world where it might be a law; But, doubting nothing, had been led by thee, Through youth, and saved, as one at length awaked Who has slept through a peril. Ah vain, vain! Thou lovest me; the past is in its grave Though its ghost haunts us; still this much is ours, To cast away restraint, lest a worse thing Wait for us in the dark. Thou lovest me; And thou art to receive not love but faith, For which thou wilt be mine, and smile and take All shapes and shames, and veil without a fear That form which music follows like a slave: And I look to thee and I trust in thee, As in a Northern night one looks alway Unto the East for morn and spring and joy. Thou seest then my aimless, hopeless state, And, resting on some few old feelings won Back by thy beauty, wouldst that I essay The task which was to me what now thou art: And why should I conceal one weakness more?