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146
ROMNEY'S REMORSE
The colour’d bubble bursts above the abyssOf Darkness, utter Lethe.
Is it so?Her sad eyes plead for my own fame with meTo make it dearer.
Look, the sun has risenTo flame along another dreary day.Your hand. How bright you keep your marriage-ring!Raise me. I thank you.
Has your opiate thenBred this black mood? or am I conscious, moreThan other Masters, of the chasm betweenWork and Ideal? Or does the gloom of AgeAnd suffering cloud the height I stand upon
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