One
One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it.
One hope is too like despair
For prudence too smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
I can give not what man call 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 sphere of our sorrow?
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random poems
one of my hobbies is writing poetry and so the journal will eventually, gradually grow
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