When this whole charity of love
Could nothing, to my sight there passed,
If the wide eye might open again,
The daemon by your beauty cast;
And as the one ft thing I’d found,
“Touch with your wing,” I sighed, “ that one
Whose sorrow in loveliness you bound.
No more I’ll skim the running song,
Which flies like waters, lost as toÌd,
So leave you to that throat of gold
The pulse above the heart of sound.
And all that stainless peace you show,
Wherein to dip this ruin and pain
Back to that lovely breast of storm,
My peace I sign again.”
Yet cruel is the seal of sense,
With my mute breath I signed this thing,
And saw but the averted head,
And the poor body shuddering.
When ears are deafened and sight blind,
And hearts laid naked to the wind,