Let such pure hate still underprop

 "Friends, Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers.
"

Let such pure hate still underprop 
Our love, that we may be 
Each other's conscience, 
And have our sympathy 
Mainly from thence.
 

We'll one another treat like gods, 
And all the faith we have 
In virtue and in truth, bestow 
On either, and suspicion leave 
To gods below.
 

Two solitary stars-- 
Unmeasured systems far 
Between us roll; 
But by our conscious light we are 
Determined to one pole.
 

What need confound the sphere?-- 
Love can afford to wait; 
For it no hour's too late 
That witnesseth one duty's end, 
Or to another doth beginning lend.
 

It will subserve no use, 
More than the tints of flowers; 
Only the independent guest 
Frequents its bowers, 
Inherits its bequest.
 

No speech, though kind, has it; 
But kinder silence doles 
Unto its mates; 
By night consoles, 
By day congratulates.
 

What saith the tongue to tongue? 
What hearest ear of ear? 
By the decrees of fate 
From year to year, 
Does it communicate.
 

Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns; 
No trivial bridge of words, 
Or arch of boldest span, 
Can leap the moat that girds 
The sincere man.
 

No show of bolts and bars 
Can keep the foeman out, 
Or 'scape his secret mine, 
Who entered with the doubt 
That drew the line.
 

No warder at the gate 
Can let the friendly in; 
But, like the sun, o'er all 
He will the castle win, 
And shine along the wall.
 

There's nothing in the world I know 
That can escape from love, 
For every depth it goes below, 
And every height above.
 
It waits, as waits the sky, 
Until the clouds go by, 
Yet shines serenely on 
With an eternal day, 
Alike when they are gone, 
And when they stay.
 

Implacable is Love-- 
Foes may be bought or teased 
From their hostile intent, 
But he goes unappeased 
Who is on kindness bent.

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