Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/41

 It was this secret, vast, sublime, Too full of wonder to be told— Whose extreme rapture from that time Doth ever more and more enfold My spirit, like a robe of gold, Or, as it were, the magic clime Of some fair heaven about me shed— Wherein are songs of unseen birds, And whispers of delicious words More sweet than any man hath said Of all the living or the dead.

—O, the incomparable love Of him, my Lover!—O, to tell Its way and measure were above The throbbing chords of speech that swell Within me!—Doth it not excel All other, sung or written of? Yea now, O all ye fair mankind— Consider well the gracious line Of those your lovers; call to mind Their love of you, and ye shall find Not one among them all like mine.