To-

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it ,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
For prudence it;
One hope is to like dispair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what women love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not,-
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the spere of our sorrow?