 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
III—LIKENESS IN UNLIKENESS
We are alike, and yet,—O strange and sweet!—Each in the other difference discerns;
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Opposing ways, when they again do meet
Clasp each in each, as flame clasps into heat;
So when this hand on this cool bosom burns,
Each sense is lost in the other. So two urns
Do, side by side, the selfsame lines repeat,
But various color gives a lovelier grace,
And each by contrast still more fine has grown.
Thus, Love, it was, I did forget thy face
As more and more to me thy soul was known;
Vague in my mind it grew till, in its place,
Another came I knew not from my own.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |