I think just how my lips
will weigh –
With shapeless – quivering – prayer –
That you – so late – ′′consider′′ me –
The ′′sparrow′′ of your care –

I mind me that of Anguish –
sent –
Some drifts were moved away –
Before my simple bosom – broke –
And why not this – if they?

And so I con that thing –
′′forgiven′′ –

 ¦

Until – delirious – borne –
By my long bright – and
longer – trust –
I drop my Heart – unshriven!