And red. Ah, love! thou knowest how I came
Unto thy fluting in the breathless eve,
And burned my heart’s pale flower to scarlet flame!...
One morn I found within a drop of dew
My very soul: a crystal world it was
Wherein the varied earth and heaven’s blue
And myself gazing glassed in perfect sphere—
But long above it was my wonder bent,
And lo! it dried more swiftly than a tear.
Now is this truth, O Jove, that I have won
And woven all the shreds thou gav’st the wind?
But how, I pray thee, can my task be done
Unless thou ope thine hand, unless thou loose
The very heart and secret of the web
Where every thread may end and know its use?
Joy hast thou not withheld, nor love denied,
Nor any beauty dimmed on earth or sky,
Yet by thy will I roam unsatisfied.
But couldst thou hear again that earliest plea,
Again my choice would flout the lesser gift,
And willing take this task thou grantest me—
To search the heart and secret of the whole,
To twine the eager hues of varied days,
And to its bright perfection weave a soul.