To-- One word is too often profaned

I.

One word is too often

For me to profane it,

One feeling too falsely

For thee to disdain it;

One hope is too like

For prudence to smother,

And pity from thee more

Than that from another.

II.

I can give not what men call love,

But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts

And the Heavens reject not,--The desire of the moth for the star,

Of the night for the morrow,

The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?