if learned darkness from our searched world
 
should wrest the rare unwisdom of thy eyes,
and if thy hands flowers of silence curled
 
upon a wish,to rapture should surprise
my soul slowly which on thy beauty dreams
(proud through the cold perfect night whisperless
 
to mark,how that asleep whitely she seems
 
whose lips the whole of life almost do guess)
 
if god should send the morning;and before
my doubting window leaves softly to stir,
of thoughtful trees whom night hath pondered o’er
—and frailties of dimension to occur
 
about us
              and birds known, scarcely to sing
 
(heart,could we bear the marvel of this thing?)

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