Page:Poems Cromwell.djvu/70

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SEPARATION
When intervals of solitude are done,
Or nearly done, what brimming utmost bliss!
My wings disturb my lonely chrysalis
To go to thee! I open one by one,
To ease delight, thy casements to the sun;
Prepare thy chamber where thy follies miss
Thee, too; then tip-toe with my treasured kiss,
And love that weighs my thrilling breast, I run
To meet thy doming;—pause in sweet suspense
Too soon upon the doorstep—else delay;
I almost see thee—balm to aching sight!
What gladness, mingling with an equal sense
Of soaring desolation, lest thou stay
And leave the house and me deserted quite!

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