Yea, I must love thee though I fall and die!
Yea, hath my heart become for Love a lyre,
And he hath syllabled thy name, and I
Fill in each silence with a song; aspire
To rival in my rapture Euterpe.
For life or death, Elysium or Doom,
We soar and sink together through the vast
And unrevealed, dim reaches of the Room
Whose walls are Night, and its wide portals three--
The Future, and the Present, and the Past!