Love Is Blind

And can you tell me Love is blind Because your faults he will not find, Because the image that he sees Is one of splendid mysteries? And if he lack the power to look On what he will, as on a book, And read therein the heart of it, Why are his ways with wonder lit? Why think you he should bind his eyes And hide the many-tinted skies, But that he sees too well to trust The shadows on an orb of dust? For he hath vision keener far Than poring Thought's and Fancy's are An inward vision, full and clear When night has flung her mantle sheer Across the world we stumble through In search of Truth's evasive clue. He looks, and straight there fall away The flutt'ring rags of your array, The far-fet gem, th' indecent drape, The pads that mar the perfect shape, And naked to his reverent view Is beauty's self, essential you.