University of Virginia Library


56

Moieties

It seems most strange that thou and I
Should not have met in years gone by;
It seems most strange that souls so mated
To long disunion should be fated.
Few, few indeed, dare trust their bark
Upon life's waters deep and dark
With hope to find a land of rest,
An isle by Cytherea blest.
Perhaps few need or seek for more
Than coasting by their native shore,
Where they may gain in many a cove
Safe anchor, unpresumptuous love!
The few that great ideals cherish
On mountains and in deserts perish,
Fringed by delusive herbs and trees,
That beckon to the homeless seas.
Upon the sand they thrust their prow,
They stake life's treasure on the throw;
The hungry sea comes up behind,
Before them shrieks the desert wind!

57

How happy, if on waste or mountain
An unsuspected vale or fountain
The wanderer find! More happy he,
If there he meet a nymph like thee;
Who never learnt 'neath Christian spires
The virtue of concealed desires,
Nor tainted with a careful coldness
The purity of true love's boldness;
Nor yet destroyed love's heavenly fruit
By plucking up his earthly root,
Nor set up Principle above
The larger principle of Love!