I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, I shun the thought that lurks in all delight -- The thought of thee -- and in the blue Heaven's height, And in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright; But it must never, never come in sight; I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day, When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away, -- With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
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