And didst thou think that worldly art
Would mould anew this shrinking heart?
No! as a bird, by storms opprest,
Is sheltered in its silent nest,
I nurse and soothe it in the strife,
Screen from the bleakest airs of life,
And bring it all that once you knew,
As kind, as timid, and as true!
But how could I so foolish be,
As not to feel a doubt of thee?—
This joy to find me still the same
Takes from my lip the power to blame;
Else, but forgive me, else I find
A mist has stolen o’er thy mind,
And veil’d my prospect; dimm’d that light
Which once was warm, and clear, and bright.