I think just how my shape will rise --
When I shall be "forgiven" --
Till Hair -- and Eyes -- and timid Head --
Are out of sight -- in Heaven --
I think just how my lips will weigh --
With shapeless -- quivering -- prayer --
That you -- so late -- "Consider" me --
The "Sparrow" of your Care --
I mind me that of Anguish -- sent --
Some drifts were moved away --
Before my simple bosom -- broke --
And why not this -- if they?
And so I con that thing -- "forgiven" --
Until -- delirious -- borne --
By my long bright -- and longer -- trust --
I drop my Heart -- unshriven!
