 | The Triumph of Love |  |
LVI
As one who, wandering in a pathless dream,Scans his own doings with another's eye,
So, when I muse upon my past, I deem
'Tis mine no more, and doubt if I am I.
Love! was it I who through those weary years
Waited unwearied till love's morning broke?
Love! was it I who heard with ravished ears
Love's voice in thine, and at his call awoke?
What is my self? A river gliding past,
With ever-widening flood, from source to sea.
O sea to which all rivers glide at last,
I am not I till I am lost in thee;—
I am not I till, freed from self's control,
I cease to be, and love absorbs my soul.
| The Triumph of Love | |