LOVE, THE DESTROYER

Come from behind those eyes, that I may see

Thyself, beloved! not lip, or hand, or brain.

These are not thou. These are the servile train

That crowd me from thine inmost mystery.

Show me thy naked soul!... or it may be

That, lacking this, I shall, in Love's mad strain,

Shatter the form, and sift it grain by grain

To find thine utter Self — thee — very Thee!...

Ah! Love, forgive!... Be this my penitence

That in my passion I have glimpsed the goal

Of all calamity, and surely scanned

In flood and flame, earthquake and pestilence,

Love raging forth, to find Love's inmost soul,

With bridal gifts in Ruin's awful hand!