Alice Meynell

Renouncement

I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
    I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—
    The thought of thee—and in the blue Heaven's height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.

O just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
    This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
    But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.

But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
    When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
        And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,

Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—
    With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
        I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.