SOUL-LIGHT

What other woman could be loved like you,

Or how of you should love possess his fill?

After the fulness of all rapture, still,—

As at the end of some deep avenue

A tender glamour of day,— there comes to view

Far in your eyes a yet more hungering thrill,—

Such fire as Love's soul-winnowing hands distil

Even from his inmost arc of light and dew.

And as the traveller triumphs with the sun,

Glorying in heat's mid-height, yet startide brings

Wonder new-born, and still fresh transport springs

From limpid lambent hours of day begun;—

Even so, through eyes and voice, your soul doth move

My soul with changeful light of infinite love.