Had caught some glimpses of the shrine within,
And gave that all my worship. It was soul.
High, holy, living, intellectual soul,
That lit her perfect features, like a lamp,
That burns in alabaster; or some star
Whose rays vibrating through the ether’s space,
Transmit its softened image from afar.
Yes! this it was that made me read her face,
E’en as one reads the language of a book,
With a forgetful earnestness, until