Nature, with endless being rife, Parts each thing into 'him' and 'her,' And, in the arithmetic of life, The smallest unit is a pair; And thus, oh, strange, sweet half of me, If I confess a loftier flame, If more I love high Heaven than thee, I more than love thee, thee I am; And, if the world's not built of lies, Nor all a cheat the Gospel tells, If that which from the dead shall rise Be I indeed, not something else, There's no position more secure In reason or in faith than this, That those conditions must endure, Which, wanting, I myself should miss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON LOVE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS DREAMS by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER OF THE DAY ESTIVALL by ALEXANDER HUME THE WIND AND THE MOON by GEORGE MACDONALD |