Poems (Taylor)/Love's Humilities
LOVE'S HUMILITIES
To think of thee, to think of thee!
O privilege too pure for me!—
Though I could part the sacred veil
Within my soul; and show thee pale
Against a golden light,
With long hands folded on thy breast,
Like some Madonna, drawn to rest
Upthrough a jasper night.
O privilege too pure for me!—
Though I could part the sacred veil
Within my soul; and show thee pale
Against a golden light,
With long hands folded on thy breast,
Like some Madonna, drawn to rest
Upthrough a jasper night.
To dream of thee, to dream of thee!
O sweetness far too sweet for me!—
To seek thy bosom like a dove,
To cling about thy feet like love,
What earthly dream shall dare?
Let mine but hear the cushat call
Through roseries thy faint foot-fall
Hath silenced, like a prayer.
O sweetness far too sweet for me!—
To seek thy bosom like a dove,
To cling about thy feet like love,
What earthly dream shall dare?
Let mine but hear the cushat call
Through roseries thy faint foot-fall
Hath silenced, like a prayer.
To think of thee, to dream of thee!
O ecstasy too rare for me!—
Nay! Thou art but a colour through
All fantasies I ever knew,
Love, Love—Or wilt thou be
An odour of hid lilies in
All dells of reverie I win?—
O Sweet, suffice it thee!
O ecstasy too rare for me!—
Nay! Thou art but a colour through
All fantasies I ever knew,
Love, Love—Or wilt thou be
An odour of hid lilies in
All dells of reverie I win?—
O Sweet, suffice it thee!