Thus from my love takes colouring and aim!
Not love her! Well, well, I'll forget the word--
The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not.

[_A pause_.

It cannot be--this aim so deeply--weigh'd,
So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail.
O wondrous power! great mystery of life!
Reserved for me of all the sons of men;
Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven
For me to pluck with eager, trembling hands,
And press its vintage out for thirsting worlds
More blessed still that into her sweet cup
First may I pour the clearest of the wine--
For her--for her--ah, yes! for her supreme,
I struggle onward through this blinding light,
E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand,
Pale, trembling, like a terror-smitten soul,
Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven.
Yet once again let me the plan review,
Searching within my soul of souls each part,
That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus
By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be.--

[_A long pause_.

Yes! it is so--this deep magnetic sleep,
That from my being passes upon her,
Bindeth the body close in deepest thrall,