The Poet Tells of His Love

How shall I sing of Her that is
My life's long rapture and despair —
Sorrow eternal — Loveliness,
To whom each heart-beat is a prayer!

Utterly, endlessly, alone
Possessing me, yet unpossessed —
The dark, the drear beloved One
That takes the tribute of this breast:

Daemon disconsolate, in vain,
In vain petitioned and implored —
How many a midnight of disdain
Darkly and dreadfully adored!

Beauty, the virgin, evermore
Out of these arms with laughter fled —
Vanished — a voice by slope and shore
Haunting the world — Illusion dread —

Most secret Siren, on whose coast,
'Mid spray of perishing song, are hurled
All desolate lovers, all the lost
Souls, and half-poets of the world:

Through sleepless nights and lonely days
In tears and terror served and sought —
Light beyond light — the supreme Face
That blinds the adoring eyes of thought!

How shall I sing of Her? Nay all,
All song, all sorrow, all silence of
This desperate heart that is Her thrall,
Trembles and tries to tell my love!
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