My own Beloved, wilt thou prove true indeed,
Throughout the trials of the coming years,
Through dying hopes, mischances, shocks and fears,
To the requirements of love's simple creed?
Shall the mere sowing of this little seed,
Bear that bright flower whose virtue overpeers,
In tint and fragrance, all the bloom that cheers
Life's dusty garden--faith, truth's crown and meed?
O, I beseech thee, bear in thy pure hand
That lily spotless, whatsoe'er may be
Allotted us to vanquish or withstand!
Bear it unbroken to the gloomy sea
By death's dark pinions overspread and fanned,
For thy own sake, Beloved, if not for me!