And in the soul a wild odour is felt
Beyond the sense, like fiery dews that melt 110
Into the bosom of a frozen bud.—­
See where she stands! a mortal shape indued
With love and life and light and deity,
And motion which may change but cannot die;
An image of some bright Eternity; 115
A shadow of some golden dream; a Splendour
Leaving the third sphere pilotless; a tender
Reflection of the eternal Moon of Love
Under whose motions life’s dull billows move;
A Metaphor of Spring and Youth and Morning; 120
A Vision like incarnate April, warning,
With smiles and tears, Frost the Anatomy
Into his summer grave. 
Ah, woe is me! 
What have I dared? where am I lifted? how
Shall I descend, and perish not?  I know 125
That Love makes all things equal:  I have heard
By mine own heart this joyous truth averred: 
The spirit of the worm beneath the sod
In love and worship, blends itself with God.

Spouse!  Sister!  Angel!  Pilot of the Fate 130
Whose course has been so starless!  O too late
Beloved!  O too soon adored, by me! 
For in the fields of Immortality
My spirit should at first have worshipped thine,
A divine presence in a place divine; 135
Or should have moved beside it on this earth,
A shadow of that substance, from its birth;
But not as now:—­I love thee; yes, I feel
That on the fountain of my heart a seal
Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright 140
For thee, since in those TEARS thou hast delight. 
We—­are we not formed, as notes of music are,
For one another, though dissimilar;
Such difference without discord, as can make
Those sweetest sounds, in which all spirits shake 145
As trembling leaves in a continuous air?

Thy wisdom speaks in me, and bids me dare
Beacon the rocks on which high hearts are wrecked. 
I never was attached to that great sect,
Whose doctrine is, that each one should select 150
Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend,
And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend
To cold oblivion, though it is in the code
Of modern morals, and the beaten road
Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread, 155
Who travel to their home among the dead
By the broad highway of the world, and so
With one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe,
The dreariest and the longest journey go.