Beloved

As music out of silence, Craig, so came Thy love from mystery; so, darling, now The lilies are less radiant than thy brow, On which my heart beholds celestial flame. Thou art all white, my queen; there is no name In all the lore of love for such as thou; The moon s wan breast, the foam beneath the prow, The cherry bloom—thou bringest them to shame! Thou art too fair! How shall I worship thee, Thou sister of the dawn? How cry thy praise? Nay! tho' I sing thro' many dusks and days I cannot tell with words thy gift to me, Who, ere Heaven's crystal gleamed beneath my feet, Hast made the tale of all its bliss complete.