How Could I Helpt It?
How could I help it?—Climbing out of hell,
Can one refuse to love the flower that grows
Close by the hell-brink? Is not the first rose
One sees in a green hedge adorable?—
So sweetness more than I can ever tell
Crowns thee, and round about thy being flows.
My love is measured by my former throes
Of pain: the light by darkness visible.
It is not much I ask. Pay love's old debt
With this, Lord God. I only ask to see
This woman's face: that it may shine on me
From time to time: that this star may not set:—
That I may look, for many a sweet day yet,
Loving, on her, who have, fearless, looked on thee.
Can one refuse to love the flower that grows
Close by the hell-brink? Is not the first rose
One sees in a green hedge adorable?—
So sweetness more than I can ever tell
Crowns thee, and round about thy being flows.
My love is measured by my former throes
Of pain: the light by darkness visible.
It is not much I ask. Pay love's old debt
With this, Lord God. I only ask to see
This woman's face: that it may shine on me
From time to time: that this star may not set:—
That I may look, for many a sweet day yet,
Loving, on her, who have, fearless, looked on thee.
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