Page:The Happy Marriage and Other Poems.pdf/21

 And he had used love's dream of love before, Love that hopes nothing but the hope it is, Love that has no utterance in a kiss, Nor eloquence in flesh, but would adore Its perfect adoration, its desire, As musingly in wonder as the moon Stares back into a brook whose running rune Burns with the imaged argent of moon-fire.

Sometimes in music when the phrase would close And yet yearn on in silence, unfulfilled, Once in the imperfection of a rose, Once in an ape's face marvellously stilled, He had imagined the perfected thing, The hope made real, the unfolded wing.