COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art, Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss, And thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this, Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, -- or perish there too! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...L.E.L.'S LAST QUESTION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING RIDDLE: A BLACKSMITH by MOTHER GOOSE IN APIA BAY by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS VERSES ADDRESSED TO IMITATOR OF FIRST SATIRE OF HORACE by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU LITTLE JOHN AND THE RED FRIAR; A LAY OF SHERWOOD by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 2 by GEORGE BARKER OUT A-NUTTEN by WILLIAM BARNES |