Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive Leap off the rim of earth across the dome. It is a night to make the heavens our home More than the nest whereto apace we strive. Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive, In swarms outrushing from the golden comb. They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam: The living throb in me, the dead revive. Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath, Life glistens on the river of the death. It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt, Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs Of radiance, the radiance enrings: And this is the soul's haven to have felt.
Modern Love: XXXIX
She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood Has yielded: she, my golden-crownëd rose! The bride of every sense! more sweet than those Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood. O visage of still music in the sky! Soft moon! I feel thy song, m y fairest friend! True harmony within can apprehend Dumb harmony without. And hard! ’t is nigh! Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam Of living silver shows me where she shook Her long white fingers down the shadowy brook, That sings her song, half waking, half in dream. What two come here to mar this heavenly tune? A man is one: the woman bears my name. And honour. Their hands touch! Am I still tame? God, what a dancing spectre seems the moon!