Do those pure eyes shine verily the same,
On any other eyes they chance to meet?
O tell to me, by Love's untarnished name,
Is this as pure as it is surely sweet,
Or is the glimpse permitted of the soul
To be but loved in the rememberance,
That as the needle trembles to the pole,
So grace of life shall spring from this loved glance?
But Love, sweet Love, O tell me if you can,
If visions such as these were always seen,
To what a god-like height might reach the man
Impelled to be what few or none have been?
You will not say, O Love, you have no power
To unveil the hidden joy of that far hour.