It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate. When two are stripped, long ere the course begin, We wish that one should love, the other win; And one especially do we affect Of two gold ingots, like in each respect: The reason no man knows, let it suffice, What we behold is censured by our eyes. Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated. Had our words turned to other things In the grey park, the rain abated, Life would have quickened other strings. I list your gifts in this creation: Pen, paper, ink and inspiration, Peace to the heart with touch or word, Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours, Occasion this? No lightning came; Nor did I sense, when touched by flame, Our story lit with borrowed powers - Rather, by what our spirits burned, Embered in words, to us returned.
I walk to church. I sit, I’m forgiven, And wonder whether my thoughts are just. I feel dirty, worn, corrupted, My prayers half-hearted, belief is a must. The more I learn, the worse I feel, Each waking day more difficult than the last. Excuses made, I don’t know what’s real, Mistakes I’ve made still haunt my past.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!