Her manners, when they call me lord,

Remind me 't is by courtesy ; Not with her least consent of will, Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the noble style that still Imputes an unattained desert; Because her gay and lofty brows,

When all is won which hope can ask, Reflect a light of hopeless snows That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to Heaven; because in short, She's not and never can be mine.

IF I WERE DEAD

(1862)

20

25

30

'If I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'

The dear lips quivered as they spake,
And the tears brake

From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.

Poor Child, poor Child!

I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.

It is not true that Love will do no wrong. Poor Child!

And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,

How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake, 10 And of those words your full avengers

make?

Poor Child, poor Child!

And now unless it be

That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,

O God, have thou no mercy upon me! 15 Poor Child!

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the
hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day, 5
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve: 10
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
(1862)

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.