I MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,

I shun1 the thought that lurks2 in all delight

The thought of theeand in the blue heavens height,

And in the dearest passage of a song.

Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng3

This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright:

But it must never, never come in sight;

I must sTOP short of thee the whole day long.

But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,

When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,

And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,

Must doff4 my will as raiment laid away,

With the first dream that comes with the first sleep

I run, I run, I am gatherd to thy heart.