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POEMS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
Were you with me, or I with you,
There 's nought methinks I could not do;
And nothing that, for your dear sake,
I might not dare to undertake.
There 's nought methinks I could not do;
And nothing that, for your dear sake,
I might not dare to undertake.
With thousands standing by as fit,
More keen, perhaps more needing it,
To be the first some job to spy,
And jump and call out, Here am I!
More keen, perhaps more needing it,
To be the first some job to spy,
And jump and call out, Here am I!
O for one's miserable self
To ask a pittance of the pelf,
To claim, however small, a share,
Which other men might think so fair:
To ask a pittance of the pelf,
To claim, however small, a share,
Which other men might think so fair:
It was not worth it! a first time
A thought upon it seemed a crime;
To stoop and pick the dirty pence,
A taint upon one's innocence.
A thought upon it seemed a crime;
To stoop and pick the dirty pence,
A taint upon one's innocence.
My own! with nothing sordid, base,
Or mean, we would our love disgrace;
Yet something I methinks could do,
Were you with me, or I with you:
Or mean, we would our love disgrace;
Yet something I methinks could do,
Were you with me, or I with you:
Some misconstruction would sustain;
Count some humiliation gain;
Make unabashed a righteous claim,
And profess merit without shame:
Count some humiliation gain;
Make unabashed a righteous claim,
And profess merit without shame:
