In words, to live again in looks, which dart
With thrilling tone into the voiceless heart,
Harmonizing silence without a sound.

Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound,
And our veins beat together; and our lips
With other eloquence than words, eclipse

The soul that burns between them, and the wells

Which boil under our being's inmost cells,
The fountains of our deepest life, shall be
Confused in passion's golden purity,
As mountain-springs under the morning Sun.
We shall become the same, we shall be one
Spirit within two frames, oh! wherefore two?
One passion in twin-hearts, which grows and

grew,

Till like two meteors of expanding flame, Those spheres instinct with it become the

same,

Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever still
Burning, yet ever inconsumable:

In one another's substance finding food,
Like flames too pure and light and unimbued

To nourish their bright lives with baser prey, Which point to Heaven and cannot pass

away:

One hope within two wills, one will beneath
Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death,
One Heaven, one Hell, one immortality,
And one annihilation. Woe is me!

The winged words on which my soul would pierce

Into the height of love's rare Universe,

Are chains of lead around its flight of fire — I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!

Weak Verses, go, kneel at your Sovereign's feet,

And say: "We are the masters of thy slave; What wouldest thou with us and ours and

thine?"

Then call your sisters from Oblivion's cave, All singing loud: "Love's very pain is sweet. But its reward is in the world divine

Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave."

So shall ye live when I am there. Then haste Over the hearts of men, until ye meet

Marina, Vanna, Primus, and the rest,

And bid them love each other and be blest:

And leave the troop which errs, and which

reproves,

And come and be my guest, - for I am Love's.

H

ERE, my dear friend, is a new book

for you;

I have already dedicated two

To other friends, one female and

What you are is a thing that I must veil;
What can this be to those who praise or rail?
I never was attached to that great sect
Whose doctrine is that each one should select
Out of the world a mistress or a friend,

And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend

To cold oblivion - though 'tis in the code

Of modern morals, and the beaten road

Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps

tread

Who travel to their home among the dead By the broad highway of the world—and so With one sad friend, and many a jealous foe, The dreariest and the longest journey go.

Free love has this, different from gold and clay,

That to divide is not to take away.

Like ocean, which the general north wind breaks

Into ten thousand waves, and each one makes
A mirror of the moon-like some great glass,
Which did distort whatever form might pass,
Dashed into fragments by a playful child,
Which then reflects its eyes and forehead mild
Giving for one, which it could ne'er express,
A thousand images of loveliness.

;

If I were one whom the loud world held wise,

I should disdain to quote authorities