The sweet embodiment of an ideal,
Of vague desires and bazed unconscious yearnings
Suddenly shapened, the soul's inconstant turnings
At once transfixed; of all that sense doth feel
In mute mysterious glimmerings, nor reveal
By any mode of thought's constrained discernings
In channels of wrought words, and mystic burnings
Imaged and transfused to form's semblative seal:
Nay, these poor similies strained to construe
The soul's fine sense that will not brook expression,
A sense that will not mate with reasoned sense,
And that of truth's proud utt'rance proved untrue
By utterings of the soul's unheard confession—
Love-speech impelling we know not where nor whence.