TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW)
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-- Of all to whom thine absence is the night-- The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun--of all who, weeping, bless thee Hourly for hope--for life--ah! above all, For the resurrection of deep-buried faith In Truth--in Virtue--in Humanity-- Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen At thy soft-murmured words, Let there be light! At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-- Of all who owe thee most--whose gratitude Nearest resembles worship--oh, remember The truest--the most fervently devoted, And think that these weak lines are written by him-- By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think His spirit is communing with an angel's.
1847.