IV

My love is like a spring among the hills Whose brimming waters may not be confined, But pour one torrent through the ways that wind Down to a garden; there the rose distills Its nectar; there a tall, white lily fills Night with anointing of two lovers, blind, Dumb, deaf, of body, spirit, and of mind From breathless blending of far-sundered wills.

Long ere my love had reached you, hard I strove To send its torrent through the barren fields; I wanted you, the lilied treasure-trove Of innocence, whose dear possession yields Immortal gladness to my heart that knows How you surpass the lily and the rose.