UNATTAINABLE.

What though the soul be tired

For that to which‘ twas fired,

The far, dear, still desired,

Beyond the heaven's scope;

Beyond us and above us,

The thing we would have love us,

That will know nothing of us,

But only bids us hope.

It still behooves us ever

From loving ne'er to sever,

To love it though it never

Reciprocate our care;

For love, when freely given,

Lets in soft hints of heaven

In memories that leaven

Black humors of despair.

For in this life diurnal

All earthly, gross, infernal,

Conflicts with that eternal

To make its love as lust;

To rot the fairest flower

Of thought which is a power,

All happiness to sour,

And burn our eyes with dust.

Believe, some power higher

Breathes in us this desire

With purpose strange as fire,

And soft though seeming hard;

Who to such starved endeavor

And wasted love, that never

Seems recompensed, forever

Gives in His way reward.