Minglings

It is the old old vision, The moonlit sea--and you. I cannot make disseverance Between the two. For all the world's wide beauty To me you seem, All that I love in shadow Or glow or gleam.

It is the old old murmur, The sea's sound and your voice. God in his Bliss between them Could make no choice. For all the world's deep music In you I hear: Nor shall I ask death, ever, For aught more dear.