Sometimes, as young things will, she vexes me, Wayward, or too unheeding, or too blind. Like aimless birds that, flying on a wind, Strike slant against their own familiar tree; Like venturous children pacing with the sea, That turn but when the breaker spurts behind Outreaching them with spray: she in such kind Is borne against some fault, or does not flee. And so, may be, I blame her for her wrong, And she will frown and lightly plead her part, And then I bid her go. But 'tis not long: Then comes she lip to ear and heart to heart. And thus forgiven her love seems newly strong, And, oh my penitent, how dear thou art! |