High Falcon & Other Poems/The Gift

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THE GIFT
When this whole charity of loveCould nothing, to my sight there passed,If the wide eye might open again,The daemon by your beauty cast;And as the one fit thing I'd found,"Touch with your wing," I said, "that oneWhose sorrow in loveliness you bound.No more I'll skim the running songWhich flies like waters, lost as told,So leave you to that throat of goldThe pulse above the heart of sound;And all that stainless peace you show,Wherein to dip this ruin and pain,Back to that lovely breast of stormMy peace I sign again."Yet cruel is the seal of sense.With my mute breath I signed this thing,And saw but the averted headAnd the poor body shuddering.When ears are deafened and sight blind,And hearts laid naked to the wind,Creatures of air, and cloudy-shodRide like a wind upon the mind,But what of their wild hollow play,What shape of all to his most dear,No one on earth can say.
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