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作词 : Hoppe |
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I MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, |
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I shun the love that lurks in all delight— |
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The thought of thee—and in the blue heaven's height, |
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And in the dearest passage of a song. |
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Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng |
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This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright; |
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But it must never, never come in sight; |
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I must stop short of thee the whole day long. |
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But when sleep comes to close each difficult day, |
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When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, |
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And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, |
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Must doff my will as raiment laid away,— |
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With the first dream that comes with the first sleep |
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I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart. |
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