aching

I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take

From aching brows the aureole crown,--

His locks writhed like a cloven snake,--

And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite

To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.

The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;

Of unapproach'd desire,

By the aching heart of Love, which cannot rest,

In blissfullest pathos so indeed possess'd.

In consternation I adore.

Nor can I ease this aching gulf

With friends, the pictures of myself.

(Whatever it might be)

Was all on Earth my aching sight

Of Loveliness could see.

You've read them, wretch. Such letters never were

Of aching loneliness and pining love

And hope that lives across three thousand miles,

and forest glades,

heart aching with wonder, fear:

their bitter mast.

Or lumping corn out in a dusty barn;

With aching bones returning home at night,

And sitting down with weary hand to write;