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.

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