I, like a wandering bubble

I, like a wandering bubble,

Am blown here and there

Shifting and changing and fashioned

Of water and air.

Thou turnest thy face, O Beloved,

I cannot tell why,

Art thou shy of a mirror, Beloved?

Thy mirror am I!

When over her face she unloosened

The dusk of her hair,

What need had the world of the cloud-wreaths,

They fled in despair.

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