Mystery

To me, who have but known The senses' doubtful lore, Thy soul is evermore Mysterious as mine own. With ears I strive to hear A song that is not sound, With eyes, to pierce the bound Of things unseen and dear. But in delectable Dark ways, and wordless speech, Our hearts throb each to each The tale we cannot tell. The flesh unto the flesh Utters deliciously Desire and ecstasy Through all its subtle mesh. In a swift glance, or in The close and eyeless night, As light that meets with light, My soul has seemed to win Communion clear with thine, Has found the oblivion deep Which is not death nor sleep But ampler life divine.