Stones from The Quarry | ||
AN ENIGMA.
My Psyche! have I then at last caught sightOf thy sweet Self, revealed by light divine!
Am I then worthy of thy love—of thine,
Adorable, supremely-exquisite!
Not Hope all-flushed and roseate in the light
Of youth and morning; not, with eyes that shine,
Twin evening stars, and lips fresh from the brine,
In beauty's halo, Venus half so bright!
At last! and wilt thou deign, a denizen
(Angel disguised) of this dull Earth, to cheer
With thy celestial presence now and then?
Hope holds thee by one hand, by th' other Fear,
And each seems other! No! thou art with men
No dweller; take me hence, then, to thy sphere!
Stones from The Quarry | ||