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!
This poem is in the public domain.