Her manners, when they call me lord, Remind me 't is by courtesy ; Not with her least consent of will,
Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the noble style that still Imputes an unattained desert; Because her gay and lofty brows,
When all is won which hope can ask, Reflect a light of hopeless snows That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to Heaven; because in short, She's not and never can be mine.
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more, day by day, 5 You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: 10 For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. (1862)
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER
I know not of what we pondered Or made pretty pretence to talk, As, her hand within mine, we wandered Toward the pool by the lime-tree walk,
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