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- I WALK, I trust, with open eyes;
- I've travelled half my worldly course;
- And in the way behind me lies
- Much vanity and some remorse;
- I've lived to feel how pride may part
- Spirits, tho' matched like hand and glove;
- I've blushed for love's abode, the heart;
- But have not disbelieved in love;
- Nor unto love, sole mortal thing
- Or worth immortal, done the wrong
- To count it, with the rest that sing,
- Unworthy of a serious song;
- And love is my reward: for now,
- When most of dead'ning time complain,
- The myrtle blooms upon my brow,
- Its odour quickens all my brain.
- Coventry Patmore
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