“OH, I HAVE THEE, ASTHORE”

Oh, I have thee, Asthore: deep at this heart Thy presence is a fragrance subtly-rare, As blooms exhale the midnight hour. Whate’er I do, will, dream, aspire, achieve, thou art My Aim, my End. Nay, more, the absolute part Of my Soul’s life! Should hollow-eyed Despair Clutch on me it is only that I fare Forth thro’ the day, and barter at Life’s mart, Yet fail to win thee home. When Truth to woo me Comes, she arrays her in thy form; and those Assimilate twins, Beauty and Duty, to me Are thee and thy soft word. In toil, repose, Asleep, awake, thy spirit whispers thro’ me; Nor boast I hours thou dost not ope and close.