What lifts her in my thought so far Beyond all else? Let Love not err! 'Tis that which all right women are, But which I'll know in none but her. She is to me the only Ark Of that high mystery which locks The lips of joy, or speaks in dark Enigmas and in paradox; That potent charm, which none can fly, Nor would, which makes me bond and free, Nor can I tell if first 'twas I Chose it, or it elected me; Which, when I look intentest, lo, Cheats most mine eyes, albeit my heart, Content to feel and not to know, Perceives it all in every part; I kiss its cheek; its life divine Exhales from its resplendent shroud; Ixion's fate reversed is mine, Authentic Juno seems a cloud; I feel a blessed warmth, I see A bright circumference of rays, But darkness, where the sun should be, Fills admiration with amaze; And when, for joy's relief, I think To fathom with the line of thought The well from which I, blissful, drink, The spring's so deep I come to nought. |