Canto LXXXVIII
He tasted love with half his mind,Nor ever drank the inviolate springWhere nighest heaven, who first could flingThis bitter seed among mankind;
That could the dead, whose dying eyesWere closed with wail, resume their life,They would but find in child and wifeAn iron welcome when they rise:
’Twas well, indeed, when warm with wine,To pledge them with a kindly tear:To talk them o’er, to wish them here,To count their memories half divine;
But if they came who past away,Behold their brides in other hands:The hard heir strides about their lands,And will not yield them for a day.
Yea, tho’ their sons were none of these,Not less the yet-lov’d sire would makeConfusion worse than death, and shakeThe pillars of domestic peace.
Ah dear, but come thou back to me:Whatever change the years have wrought,I find not yet one lonely thoughtThat cries against my wish for thee.