O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me No casual mistress, but a wife, My bosom-friend and half of life; As I confess it needs must be;
O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood, Be sometimes lovely like a bride, And put thy harsher moods aside, If thou wilt have me wise and good.
My centred passion cannot move, Nor will it lessen from to-day; But I'll have leave at times to play As with the creature of my love;
And set thee forth, for thou art mine, With so much hope for years to come, That, howsoe'er I know thee, some Could hardly tell what name were thine.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LIX