What other woman could be loved like you, 
   Or how of you should love possess his fill? 
   After the fulness of all rapture, still,--- 
As at the end of some deep avenue 
A tender glamour of day,---there comes to view 
   Far in your eyes a yet more hungering thrill,--- 
   Such fire as Love's soul-winnowing hands distil 
Even from his inmost ark of light and dew. 

And as the traveller triumphs with the sun, 
   Glorying in heat's mid-height, yet startide brings 
   Wonder new-born, and still fresh transport springs 
From limpid lambent hours of day begun;--- 
Even so, through eyes and voice, your soul doth move 
My soul with changeful light of infinite love.