“‘A consciousness of all,’ is vague,” she said.
“I ask for reasons and you rave alone.
This very vagueness, while you answer me,
Proves all your love a myth, or immature.”
“Ah, dear,” replied I, “there is higher love,—
A love of God, a love all worshipful;
And that love should you ask me to define,
I might an answer vaguer still give back:
The finite only can be well defined.”
“The finite!” she repeated; then exclaim’d: