 | Mundi et Cordis |  |
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III. “MANY;” YET, BUT “ONE.”
Say, I love “Many”—well, dear soul! I do;But the bright object of my love is “One:”
I love a thousand flowers, of every hue,
For all are beautiful, though similar none;
I love a thousand stars, for all are bright,
And with their radiant beauty cleave the sight:
Then, though I have, as thy sweet lips complain,
On many a lip of ruby banqueted;
Of many a bright eye the rich-streaming rain
Of light drunk with my soul, then nectar-fed;
'Tis the same spirit I adore in all;
And must, till mine, or Reason's funeral:
'Tis the one deity of Beauty I
In many a matchless temple deify.
| Mundi et Cordis | |