III.— THE SYMBOL.

As if I chafed the sparks from glass,

And said,‘ It lightens,’ hitherto

The songs I've made of love may pass

For all but for proportion true;

But likeness and proportion both

Now fail, as if a child in glee,

Catching the flakes of the salt froth,

Cried,‘ Look, my mother, here's the sea.

Yet, by the help of what's so weak,

But not diverse, to those who know,

And only unto those I speak,

May far-inferring fancy show

Love's living sea by coasts uncurb'd,

Its depth, its mystery, and its might,

Its indignation if disturb'd,

The glittering peace of its delight.