Love is that orbit . . .

Love is that orbit of the restless soul Whose circle grazes the confines of space, Bounding within the limits of its race Utmost extremes; whose high and topmost pole Within the very glaze of heaven doth roll; Whose nether course is through the darkest place Eclipsed by hell. What daring hand shall trace The blended joys and sorrows that control A heart whose journeys the fixed hand of Fate Points through this pathway? Who may soar so high, -- Behold such glories with unwinking eye? Who drop so low beneath his mortal state, And thence return with careful chart and date, To mark which way another's course must lie?