23.07.2007, 08:40
WHAT would I save thee from, dear heart, dear heart?
Not from what Heaven may send thee of its pain;
Not from fierce sunshine or the scathing rain;
The pang of pleasure; passion's wound and smart;
Not from the long glad agony of thine art;
Nor loss of faithful friend, nor any gain
Of growth by grief. I would not thee restrain
From needful death. But 0, thou other part
Of me! through whom the whole world I behold,
As through the blue I see the stars above!
In whom the world I find, hid fold on fold!
Thee would I save from this - nay, do not move!
Fear not, it may not flash, the air is cold;
Save thee from this - the lightning of my love.
Not from what Heaven may send thee of its pain;
Not from fierce sunshine or the scathing rain;
The pang of pleasure; passion's wound and smart;
Not from the long glad agony of thine art;
Nor loss of faithful friend, nor any gain
Of growth by grief. I would not thee restrain
From needful death. But 0, thou other part
Of me! through whom the whole world I behold,
As through the blue I see the stars above!
In whom the world I find, hid fold on fold!
Thee would I save from this - nay, do not move!
Fear not, it may not flash, the air is cold;
Save thee from this - the lightning of my love.