Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd
Like the visits of angels, short and far between
Like the whole sky when to the east the morning doth return
Like thistles of the wilderness, fit neither for food nor fuel
Like those great rivers, whose course everyone beholds, but their springs have been seen by but few
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality
Like to diamonds her white teeth shone between the parted lips
Like torrents from a mountain source, we rushed into each other's arms
Like troops of ghosts on the dry wind past
Like two doves with silvery wings, let our souls fly