Believe not I forget thee: not for one
Dark moment, have I been thus self-divided
From that deep consciousness which is for ever
The light of all my thoughts; it were to lose
My own existence--a chill blank in life:
For all is colourless when love deserts
The heart--sole centre of all joy and woe;
Whose light or gloom all nature wears. Believe
My breast still weary till it turns to thee,
The load-star of its constant faith--unchanged
By distance or by time. For thee it cares:
For thee its joys are treasured up untasted,
As scattered sweets which the home-loving bee
Hoards for its mossy dwelling far away.