WERE thou and I the white pinions On some eager, heaven-born dove, Swift would we mount to the old dominions, To our rest of old, my love! Were thou and I trembling strands In music's enchanted line, We would wait and wait for magic hands To untwist the magic twine. Were we two sky-tints, thou and I, Thou the golden, I the red; We would quiver and glow and darken and die, And love until we were dead! Nearer than wings of one dove, Than tones or colours in chord, We are one—and safe, and for ever, my love, Two thoughts in the heart of one Lord. |