(Continued from To Marguerite.)
In this fair stranger's eyes of gray,
Thine eyes, my love! I see.
I shiver; for the passing day
Had borne me far from thee.
This is the curse of life! that not
A nobler, calmer train
Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot
Our passions from our brain;
But each day brings its petty dust,
Our soon-choked souls to fill;
And we forget because we must,
And not because we will.
I struggle towards the light; and ye,
Once-longed-for storms of love!
If with the light ye cannot be,
I bear that ye remove.
I struggle towards the light; but oh,
While yet the night is chill,
Upon time's barren, stormy flow,
Stay with me, Marguerite, still!