We stand in that wide place
Where love is frozen in marble, spire on spire,
A snow-white nightingale with a heart of fire
Soaring in space. 
We gaze, together, into the shining pool
To catch the soul of beauty unaware
Finding only the peaceful body there
Of beauty drowned and still in waters cool.

Burning so luminously in these pure white things
Somehow akin, are palpitating fires,

Intangible, yet visible as spires
Or wings. 
And close at hand, an unseen Moslem sings
Blind, haunting chants, which speak
Of mystery, forevermore unguessed. 
O shining ones, I seek
No farther, for my soul, content,
Divines the secret of the Taj Mahal and you—­
Beauty and desire, possessed
In white tranquillity, in flaming peace,
Find rest.

The Gift

What is this wine you have poured for me? 
     You have offered up
Your face in its pure transparency
     Like a crystal cup
Which trembling fingers slowly lift—­
     It is faintly masked
With a tremulous smile.  You have brought me a gift,
     Your love, unasked.

Could you trust my reckless hands so much? 
     With no vow spoken,
You gave me a goblet, which at a touch
     Were utterly broken! 
Your smile replied:  “Since the glass was filled
     It little mattered
Whether the wine were drunk or spilled
     Or the goblet shattered.”

The Bridge

I walk the bridge of hours from dawn till night
My heart beating so loud in joyous wonder
To know your love, that I can scarcely breathe;
But in the lonely darkness, with affright
I faintly hear, like ominous, distant thunder
The unseen ocean surging close beneath.

Our bridge so frail, eternity so vast! 
When we must sink into the deep at last
Heart of my heart, will you still hold me fast?

A Temple

I. DOORWAY

Carven angels
On the portals,
Angels with crowns, and eagles
And golden lions
On the door.

This is why
The alien worshippers went their way,
Why you alone discovered
The gates were open.

You touched the velvet curtains behind them,
They parted to let you pass.

II.  WINDOW

I make a window
Of you, beloved,
Through which the sun colours
The silence.

Even your absences
Are spaces I have filled
With sapphire;

Your denials
Are burning gold,
I have painted your reluctance
Emerald green: 

Your silences
Are crimson
On which your words make delicate
Black tracery.

As for me,
My will is the grey lead
Which I have bent to hold the coloured
Panes of you.

III.  SPIRE