If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, br Shouldst call along the curving sphere, "Remain, br Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me not in scorn!" br With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain; -- br br Shouldst thou, O Spring! a-cower in coverts dark, br 'Gainst proud supplanting Summer sing thy plea, br And move the mighty woods through mailed bark br Till mortal heart-break throbbed in every tree; -- br br Or (grievous `if' that may be `yea' o'er-soon!), br If thou, my Heart, long holden from thy Sweet, br Shouldst knock Death's door with mellow shocks of tune, br Sad inquiry to make -- `When may we meet?' br br Nay, if ye three, O Morn! O Spring! O Heart! br Should chant grave unisons of grief and love; br Ye could not mourn with more melodious art br Than daily doth yon dim sequestered dove.