IN A COPY OF MR. SWINBURNE'S

Dear Heart, what thing may symbolise for us

A love like ours, what gift, whate'er it be,

Hold more significance‘ twixt thee and me

Than paltry words a truth miraculous;

Or the poor signs that in astronomy

Tell giant splendours in their gleaming might:

Yet love would still give such, as in delight

To mock their impotence — so this for thee.

This song for thee! our sweetest honeycomb

Of lovesome thought and passion-hearted rhyme,

Builded of gold and kisses and desire,

By that wild poet who so many a time

Our hungering lips have blessed, until a fire

Burnt speech up and the wordless hour had come.