I drown my entire soul in your two eyes, and
the mad rapture of that frenzied soul, so that,
having been steeped in their gentleness and
prayer, it may be returned to me brighter and of
truer temper.
O for a union that refines the being, as two
golden windows in the same apse cross their
differently lucent fires and interpenetrate!
I am sometimes so heavy, so weary of being one
who cannot be perfect, as he would! My heart
struggles with its desires, my heart whose evil
weeds, between the rocks of stubbornness, rear
slyly their inky or burning flowers;
My heart, so false, so true, as the day may be,
my contradictory heart, my heart ever exaggerated
with immense joy or with criminal fear.