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

I shun the thought that lurks in all delight--    

   The thought of thee--and in the blue heaven's height, 

And in the sweetest passage of a song. 

Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng    

   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 doff my will as raiment laid away,--    

   With the first dream that comes with the first sleep 

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

Today's poem is in the public domain.