Canto LXIII
Sweet soul! do with me as thou wilt;I lull a fancy trouble-tostWith ‘Love’s too precious to be lost,A little grain shall not be spilt.’
And in that solace can I sing,Till out of painful phases wroughtThere flutters up a happy thought,Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:
Since we deserved the name of friends,And thine effect so lives in me,A part of mine may live in thee,And move thee on to noble ends.