5. Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot With various flowers, and every one still said, 'She loves me--loves me not.' _35 And if this meant a vision long since fled-- If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought-- If it meant,--but I dread To speak what you may know too well: Still there was truth in the sad oracle. _40 6. The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home; No bird so wild but has its quiet nest, When it no more would roam; The sleepless billows on the ocean's breast Break like a bursting heart, and die in foam, _45 And thus at length find rest: Doubtless there is a place of peace Where MY weak heart and all its throbs will cease. 7. I asked her, yesterday, if she believed That I had resolution. One who HAD _50 Would ne'er have thus relieved His heart with words,--but what his judgement bade Would do, and leave the scorner unrelieved. These verses are too sad To send to you, but that I know, _55 Happy yourself, you feel another's woe. NOTES: _10 Indifference, which once hurt me, is now grown Trelawny manuscript. _18 Dear friends, dear friend Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; Dear gentle friend 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _26 ever]lately Trelawny manuscript. _28 in Trelawny manuscript; on 1834, editions 1839, _43 When 1839, 2nd edition; Whence 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _48 will 1839, 2nd edition; shall 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _53 unrelieved Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd. edition; unreprieved 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _54 are]were Trelawny manuscript. *** TO --. [Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.] 1. One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair _5 For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. 2. I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not _10 The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not,-- The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar _15 From the sphere of our sorrow? *** TO --. [Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a Boscombe manuscript.] 1. When passion's trance is overpast, If tenderness and truth could last, Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep Some mortal slumber, dark and deep, I should not weep, I should not weep! _5 2. It were enough to feel, to see, Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, And dream the rest--and burn and be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been, _10