 | Mundi et Cordis |  |
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XXVII. PROMISE.
I go; but, do not weep!—I will rememberThine every accent till we meet again;
The bright fire of my love shall ne'er know ember,
But purely burn, like to the soul of wine:
I'll think and dream of thee; I'll ne'er recline
To slumber, but I'll wish my couch were thine;
Nor wake, and sigh not for thee: and by letter
I'll break the distance which our love doth fetter,
And speak to thee in love-born characters;
And on the wide sea-waving of my verse
A rich shower of sweet thoughts of thee shall rain,
And stories of our hearts will I rehearse:
Let this assurance stanch thy bleeding woe—
Thine image follows me where'er I go.
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