An Apprehension
IF all the gentlest-hearted
friends I knowConcentred in one heart their gentleness,That still grew gentler till its pulse was lessFor life than pity,—I should yet be slowTo bring my own heart nakedly belowThe palm of such a friend, that he should pressMotive, condition, means, appliances,My false ideal joy and fickle woe,Out full to light and knowledge; I should fearSome plait between the brows, some rougher chimeIn the free voice. O angels, let your floodOf bitter scorn dash on me ! do ye hearWhat I say who hear calmly all the timeThis everlasting face to face with GOD ?
