Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear.
For sorrow is our element. . . .
The hour is near
Which tells me we are not abandoned quite.
Appear! Appear!
Seraph!
My own Azaziel! be but here,
And leave the stars to their own light.
Aholibama:
I call thee, I await thee and I love thee.
Though I be formed of clay,
And thou of beams[76]
More bright than those of day on Eden's streams,
Thine immortality cannot repay
With love more warm than mine
My love. There is a ray[77]
In me, which though forbidden yet to shine,
I feel was lighted at thy God's and mine.[78]
It may be hidden long: death and decay
Our mother Eve bequeathed us—but my heart
Defies it: though this life must pass away,
Is that a cause for thee and me to part?
I can share all things, even immortal sorrow;
For thou hast ventured to share life with me,
And shall I shrink from thine eternity?
No, though the serpent's sting[79] should pierce me through,
And thou thyself wert like the serpent, coil
Around me still.[80] And I will smile
And curse thee not, but hold
Thee in as warm a fold
As—but descend and prove
A mortal's love
For an immortal. . . .
