“This I say of me, but think of you, Love!
This to you,—yourself my moon of poets!
Ah, but that’s the world’s side,—there’s the wonder,—
Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you.
There, in turn I stand with them and praise you,
Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it,
But the best is when I glide from out them,
Cross a step or two of dubious twilight,
Come out on the other side, the novel
Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of,