Love’s Blindness.
“O LOVE, my Love, thou canst not know how sweet,
How dear thou art!”—“Naught would I know, save this
That thou wilt ever yearn to share my kiss!
So being, I reck not whether years be fleet
Or endless!”—“But thou canst not see thy face
As others see thee! Thy deep eyes that greet
Their lucent-mirrored glimmerings, melt and meet
In glory there, to blind themselves a space!”
“Hush, O my heart! Thy vain hyperbole
Means naught; but take in both thy hands and turn
To thee this face of mine, and kiss my brow,
And after that mine eyes which cannot see
But only feel thy lips that thrill, and now
My mouth, and now—O God! thy kisses burn!”