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Had I said that, had I done this,
And here we are riding, she and I.
Fail I alone, in words and deeds ?
As the world rushed by on either side.
I hoped she would love me; here we ride.
What hand and brain went ever paired ? What heart alike conceived and dared ? What act proved all its thought had been ? What will but felt the fleshly screen ?
We ride and I see her bosom heave. There 's many a crown for who can reach. Ten lines, a statesman's life in each ! The flag stuck on a heap of bones, A soldier's doing! what atones? They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones.
My riding is better, by their leave.
What does it all mean, poet? Well,
What we felt only ; you expressed
And pace them in rhyme so, side by side.
Sing, riding 's a joy! For me, I ride.
And you, great sculptor-50, you gave
You acquiesce, and shall I repine ?
Greatly his opera's strains intend, “ But in music we know how fashions end !”
I gave my youth ; but we ride, in fine.
Who knows what 's fit for us? Had fate
Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried.
Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride.
And yet-she has not spoke so long! What if heaven be that, fair and strong At life's best, with our eyes upturned Whither life's flower is first discerned,
We, fixed so, ever should so abide ? What if we still ride on, we two, With life for ever old yet new, Changed not in kind but in degree, The instant made eternity,– And heaven just prove that I and she
Ride, ride together, forever ride?
And the spider, to serve his ends,
By a sudden thread,
Arms and legs outspread, On the table's midst descends, Comes to find, God knows what friends !
I have sat and brought
(So to speak) my thought To bear on the woman away, Till I felt my hair turn grey
Till I seemed to have and hold,
In the vacancy
'Twixt the wall and me From the hair-plait's chestnut-gold To the foot in its muslin fold
Her, from head to foot,
Breathing and mute,
Hold and have, there and then,
All her body and soul
That completes my whole,
Having and holding, till
I imprint her fast
On the void at last
Then,-if my heart's strength serve,
And through all and each
Of the veils I reach
Command her soul to advance
And inform the shape
Which has made escape And before my countenance Answers me glance for glance
I, still with a gesture fit
Of my hands that best
Do my soul's behest, Pointing the power from it, While myself do steadfast sit
Steadfast and still the same
On my object bent,
While the hands give vent To my ardour and my aim And break into very flame