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.