Renouncement

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 dearest passage of a song.
     Oh， just beyond the sweetest 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 gather‘d to thy heart.