indeed this very love which is my boast,

and which, when rising up from breast to brow,

doth crown me with a ruby large enow

to draw men’s eyes and prove the inner cost,—

this love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,

i should not love withal, unless that thou

hadst set me an example, shown me how,

when first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,

and love called love. and thus, i cannot speak

of love even, as a good thing of my own:

thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,

and placed it by thee on a golden throne,—

and that i love (o soul, we must be meek!)

is by thee only, whom i love alone.