VI

Love not as do the flesh-imprisoned men

Whose dreams are of a bitter bought caress,

Or even of a maiden's tenderness

Whom they love only that she loves again.

For it is but thyself thou lovest then,

Or what thy thoughts would glory to possess;

But love thou nothing thou wouldst love the less

If henceforth ever hidden from thy ken.

Love but the formless and eternal Whole

From whose effulgence one unheeded ray

Breaks on this prism of dissolving clay

Into the flickering colours of thy soul.

These flash and vanish; bid them not to stay,

For wisdom brightens as they fade away.