The Illusion of Love

Beloved, you may be as all men say
Only a transient spark
Of flickering flame set in loam of clay—
I care not … since you kindle all my dark
With the immortal lustres of the day.

And as all men deem, dearest, you may be
Only a common shell
Chance-winnowed by the sea-winds from the sea—
The subtle murmurs of eternity.

And tho’ you are, like men or mortal race,
Only a hapless thing
That Death may mar and destiny efface—
I care not … since unto my heart you bring
The very vision of God’s dwelling-place.