THE WISH

That you might happier be than all the rest,

Than I who have been happy loving you,

Of all the innocent even the happiest —

This I beseeched for you.

Until I thought of those unending skies —

Of stagnant cloud, or fleckless dull blue air,

Of days and nights delightless, no surprise,

No threat, no sting, no fear;

And of the stirless waters of the mind,

Waveless, unfurrowed, of no living hue,

With dead eaves dropping slowly in no wind,

And nothing flowering new.

And then no more I wished you happiness,

But that whatever fell of joy or woe

I would not dare, O Sweet, to wish it less,

Or wish you less than you.