And none are grieved or think I slight
Their worth, if closest to my breast,
This one I take which holds within its own
Each single fragrance of the rest,--
My friend, my friend!
And as I loved it first alone,
So shall I love it to the end,
For none were half so dear were it not best.
XI
My every purpose fashioned by some thought of thee,
Though as a feather's weight that shapes the arrow's flight it be;
No single joy complete in which thou hast no fee,
Though thy share be the star and mine its shadow in the sea;
Thy very pulse my pulse, thy every prayer my prayer.
Thy love my blue o'erreaching sky that bounds me everywhere,--
Yet free, Beloved, free! for this encircling air
I cannot leave behind, doth but love's boundlessness declare.
XII
Last night the angel of remembrance brought
Me while I slept--think, Dear! of all his store
Just that one memory I thought
Banished forever from our door!
Thy sob of pain when once I hurt thee sure.
Then in my dream I suddenly was ware
Of God above me saying: "Reach
Thy hand to Me in prayer,
And I will give thee pardon yet.
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