To Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin

Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;

Yes. I was firm—thus wert not thou:—

My baffled looks did fear yet dread

To meet thy looks—I could not know

How anxiously they sought to shine

With soothing pity upon mine.

To sit and curb the soul's mute rage

Which preys upon itself alone;

To curse the life which is the cage

Of fettered grief that dares not groan,

Hiding from many a careless eye

The scornèd load of agony.

Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,

Thethou alone should be,

To spend years thus, and be rewarded,

As thou, sweet love, requited me

When none were near—Oh! I did wake

From torture for that moment's sake.

Upon my heart thy accents sweet

Of peace and pity fell like dew

On flowers half dead;—thy lips did meet

Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw

Their soft persuasion on my brain,

Charming away its dream of pain.

We are not happy, sweet! our state

Is strange and full of doubt and fear;

More need of words that ills abate;—

Reserve or censure come not near

Our sacred friendship, lest there be

No solace left for thee and me.

Gentle and good and mild thou art,

Nor can I live if thou appear

Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart

Away from me, or stoop to wear

The mask of scorn, although it be

To hide the love thou feel'st for me.