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Coventry Patmore - Semele
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No praise to me!
              My joy `twas to be nothing but the glass
              Thro` which the general boon of Heaven should pass,
              To focus upon thee.
              Nor is`t thy blame
              Thou first should`st glow, and, after, fade i` the flame.
              It takes more might
              Than God has given thee, Dear, so long to feel delight.
              Shall I, alas,
               Reproach thee with thy change and my regret?
               Blind fumblers that we be
               About the portals of felicity!
               The wind of words would scatter, tears would wash
               Quite out the little heat
               Beneath the silent and chill-seeming ash,
               Perchance, still slumbering sweet.
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