The Illusion Of Love

Beloved, you may be as all men say

Only a transient spark

Of flickering flame set in loam of clay –

I care not …since you kindle all my dark

With the immortal lustres of the day.

And as all men deem, dearest, you may be

Only a common shell

Chance-winnowed by the sea-winds from the sea –

The subtle murmurs of eternity.

And tho’ you are, like men or mortal race,

Only a hapless thing

That Death may mar and destiny efface –

I care not … since unto my heart you bring

The very vision of God’s dwelling-place.