WHEN Jessie comes with her soft breast,   And yields the golden keys, Then is it as if God caress'd   Twin babes upon His knees— Twin babes that, each to other press'd, Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are bless'd.

But when I think if we must part,   And all this personal dream be fled— O then my heart! O then my useless heart!   Would God that thou wert dead— A clod insensible to joys and ills— A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills!