 | Poems |  |
SONNET XIV.
Are there no marriages in heaven?—then whyIs earthly love so quenchless and so strong?
Why doth the lover wish and yearn and long
For bliss that dies not in eternity?
No! no! the grave doth only purify
Love's ore from its alloy—the sordid throng
Of earth's defilements, change, and chance, and wrong
And jealous fears, and chill adversity.
My Margaret, when I think on what thou art,
How spirit-like a being, how refined
From all that chains to earth our human heart,
From all that now pollutes our human mind,
I cannot think that death will tear apart
The links thy magic round my soul hath twined.
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