if learned darkness from our searched world

wrestest the rare unwisdom of thy eyes,
if thy two 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?)