I, who am Love, come clothed in mystery,
As rose my beauteous mother from the Sea,
Veiling my luminous wings from mortal sight—
Whether at noon or in the star-strewn night—
That I may pass unrecognized and free.
Ignoring them that idly seek for me,
Unto mine own, from all eternity
I come with heart aflame and torch alight—
I who am Love!
What bring I them? Ah, draughts that sweeter be
Than welling waters of Callirrhoe!
What give I them? Life!—even in Death's despite;
And upward still I lead them to the height
Of an immortal passion's purity!—
I who am Love.