Oh, not to guess it at the first.
But I did guess it,—that is, I divined,
Felt by an instinct how it was;—why else
Should I pronounce you free from all that heap
Of sins, which had been irredeemable?
I felt they were not yours.
Nests there are many of this very year,
Many the nests are, which the winds shall shake,
The rains run through and other birds beat down
Yours, O Aspasia! rests against the temple
Of heavenly love, and, thence inviolate,
It shall not fall this winter, nor the next.
Lift up your heart upon the knees of God,
Losing yourself, your smallness and your darkness
In His great light, who fills and moves the world,
Who hath alone the quiet of perfect motion.