Was I myself, or was I some small light
That lit the waiting furnace of your sight—
And thus became a symbol of delight?
That lit the waiting furnace of your sight—
And thus became a symbol of delight?
What was I but the beauty of first love
Scattering flowers below and stars above?
For in that image you had made me, dear.
You did not know me, yet you taught me fear.
Irony faltered and I nearly flew;
Perhaps I showed you love, but I loved you.
Scattering flowers below and stars above?
For in that image you had made me, dear.
You did not know me, yet you taught me fear.
Irony faltered and I nearly flew;
Perhaps I showed you love, but I loved you.
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