By what word's power, the key of paths untrod,
Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore,
Till parted waves of Song yield up the
Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod?
For lo! in some poor rhythmic period,
Lady,
I fain would tell how
Thy soul I know not from thy body,
Thee from myself, neither our love from God.
Yea, in God's name, and Love's, and thine, would
Draw from one loving heart such
As to all hearts all things shall signify;
Tender as dawn's first hill-fire, and
As instantaneous penetrating sense,
In Spring's birth-hour, of other Springs gone by.
