Heaven is mirrored, Love, deep in thine eyes,
Soft falls its shimmering light upon thy face;
Tell me, Beloved, is this Paradise,
Or but Love’s bower in some deep-sheltered place?
Is that God’s burning bush that now appears,
Or but the sunlight slanting through the tress?
Is that sweet song the music of the spheres,
Or but the deep andante of the breeze?
Are we blest spirits of some glad new birth
Floating at last in God’s eternity?
Or art thou, Love, still but a man on earth,
And I a woman clinging close to thee?