White Beauty, bending from a throne sublime,

Hath claimed my lips with kisses keen as snow:

Now through my harp the tremors come and go

Of things not stirred with urgencies of Time.

Now from the lunar mountains, old and lone,

In dream I watch the neighboring world remote;

Or on the dim Uranian waters float

After a star-like sun from zone to zone.

Lo! in her praise, the stern, the fearful one,

Whose love is as the light of snows afar,

Whose ways are difficult, what word shall be?

I, desolate with Beauty, and undone,

Say Death is not so strong to change or mar,

And Love and Life not so desired as she.