The song that soars, and reads the starry runes,
And swoons!
None but the dead can tune the lyre of love!
Come, love, thy body serpentine and bright!
What love is this, the heart of sombre light,
Impossible, and therefore infinite?
Sheer height!
None but the dead can twine the limbs of love.
Come, love! My body in thy passion weeps
Tears keen as dewfall’s, salter than the deep’s.