Love is enough: were all we fondly cherish
To pass as visions melt at dawn of day,
Were bud and blossom, fruit and leaf, to perish,
Love could rebuild them in his perfect way;
For he who makes the tides to ebb and flow,
Each secret of creation well doth know.
His warmth illumes the glow-worm's fickle spark,
And beams in Aldebaran's steadfast fire:
With him there is no winter and no dark;
The font, the burning font, of pure desire,
All forms of beauty unto him belong,—
The rose, the avalanche, the wild bird's song.
On Latmos' height pale Dian dreams about him,
His voice low echoes in the ocean shell,
The bee could fill no honey-cup without him,
The violet no fragrant secret tell:
Remote yet near, changeful yet still the same,
Love is creation's breath and vital flame!