The Secret Splendour

Out of my heart love pours and pours and pours—

And should I live a thousand centuries,

No more might heaven's rainfall feed the trees

But I would keep with love's enchanted source

 Thy form a-flower in my dreaming sight,

Even if those limbs that set my kiss a-glow

Grew dust a thousand centuries ago...

Vain words! the dreamer of the Infinite

Tunes with his heart a cry of crumbling clay:

Soon shall his yearning face be locked in sleep:

How then will limitless ardours overleap

The boundaries of one life's mortal day?...

This hand on fire—love's scribe—has power to undrape

For a thousand centuries thy perfect shape!

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