  M Many things thou hast given me, dear heart; But one thing thou hast taken: that high dream Of heaven as of a country that should seem Beyond all glory that divinest art Has pictured:—with this I have had to part Since knowing thee;—how long, love, will the gleam Of each day’s sunlight on my pathway stream, Richer than what seemed richest at the start? Make my days happy, love; yet I entreat Make not each happier than the last for me; Lest heaven itself should dawn to me, complete In joy, not the surprise I dreamed ’twould be, But simply as the natural and sweet |
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