A woman’s beloved is to her a great void that she may illumine,
A great king that she may crown, a great soul that she may redeem.
And he is also the perfecting of life,
Flowers for the altar, bread for the lips, wine for the chalice.
You that have known passion, think not that you have fathomed love.
It may be that you have never seen love’s face.
For love thrusts aside storm-clouds of passion to unveil the heavens,
And, in the heart of a woman, only then is love born.
To what shall I liken a woman’s beloved,
And with what shall I compare him to do him honor?