Page:Poems Craik.djvu/237

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
A MAN'S WOOING.
217
You; who are so diverse from me,
And yet as much my own
As this my soul, which, formed apart,
Dwells in its bodily throne;—

Or rather, for that perishes,
As these our two lives are
So strangely, marvellously drawn
Together from afar;

Till week by week and month by month
We closer seem to grow,
As two hill streams, flushed with rich rain,
Each into the other flow.

I swear no oaths, I tell no lies,
Nor boast I never knew
A love-dream—we all dream in youth—
But waking, I found you,

The real woman, whose first touch
Aroused to highest life
My real manhood. Crown it then,
Good angel, friend, love, wife!

Imperfect as I am, and you,
Perchance, not all you seem,
We two together shall bind up
Our past's bright, broken dream.