I Have Unclasp'd To Thee

Our Praises Are Our Wages.

Like One Who Draws The Model Of A House Beyond His Power To Build It Who, Half Through, Gives O'er, And Leaves His Part-created Cost A Naked Subject To The Weeping Clouds.

It Comes To Pass Oft That A Terrible Oath, With A Swaggering Accent Sharply Twanged Off, Gives Manhood More Approbation Than Ever Proof Itself Would Have Earned Him.

And His Unkindness May Defeat My Life, But Never Taint My Love.

My Love Is As A Fever, Longing Still.