Accuse Me Not, Beseech Thee, That I Wear Too Calm And Sad A Face In Front Of Thine; For We Two Look Two Ways, And Cannot Shine With The Same Sunlight On Our Brow And Hair. On Me Thou Lookest With No Doubting Care, As On A Bee Shut In A Crystalline; Since Sorrow Hath Shut Me Safe In Love'S Divine, And To Spread Wing And Fly In The Outer Air Were Most Impossible Failure, If I Strove To Fail So. But I Look On Thee, On Thee, Beholding, Besides Love, The End Of Love, Hearing Oblivion Beyond Memory; As One Who Sits And Gazes From Above, Over The Rivers To The Bitter Sea.