Sonnet XVII

My love, and not I, is the egoist.

My love for thee loves itself more than thee;

Ay, more than me, in whom it doth exist,

And makes me live that it may feed on me.

In the country of bridges the bridge

More real than the shores it doth unsever;

So in our world, all of Relation,

Is true--that truer is Love than either lover.

This thought therefore comes lightly to Doubt's door--If we, seeing substance of this world, are

Mere Intervals,

God's Absence and no more,

Hollows in real Consciousness and Thought.  And if 'tis possible to Thought to bear this fruit,  Why should it not be possible to Truth?