Reserve

You that are dear, O you above the rest!

Forgive him his evasive moods and cold;

The absence that belied him oft of old,

The war upon sad speech, the desperate jest,

And pity’s wildest gush but half-confessed,

Forgive him! Let your gentle memories hold

Some written word once tender and once bold,

Or service done shamefacedly at best,

Whereby to judge him. All his days he spent,

Like one who with an angel wrestled well,

O’ermastering Love with show of light disdain;

And whatso’er your spirits underwent,

He, wounded for you, worked no miracle

To make his heart’s allegiance wholly plain.