Sweet soul! do with me as thou wilt;
⁠I lull a fancy trouble-tost
⁠With 'Love's too precious to be lost,
A little grain shall not be spilt.'

And in that solace can I sing,
⁠Till out of painful phases wrought
⁠There flutters up a happy thought,
Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:

Since we deserved the name of friends,
⁠And thine effect so lives in me,
⁠A part of mine may live in thee,
And move thee on to noble ends.