Love's Pre-vision

No thought of me, I deemed, was in her soul
When those sweet eyes, that did all eyes transcend
In glory, saw Death waiting as a friend.
She heard no sound of Earth; no distant roll
Of bitter waters o'er a sunken shoal;
No raving of mad winds that break and bend,
And hurry to its black and brackish end,
The ship whose course no pilot may control.

'T was well: one thought of me had marred her rest,
And made her soul, through pity, loth to go.
She took my love, and wore it as a flower;
And, lest some thorn should wound her in that hour,
love took it gently, when she did not know,
And laid it after on the cold, sweet breast.