So bright your eyes of mystery upon
still wretchedness and short despair, so that,
come goodly sacrifice of nerve (all fear-
does faintness, sorrow all to disappear)-
does fill those slots up to their very brim
with courage, beauty- yes, and love enow-
and darkness figures onto sorrow's brow-
ah! frightful visage- so do I grow dim!
does love trespass my steely heart, your eyes-
some glimmer godly born and praised, so that,
my terror seized, your light all 'round my soul-
take forth my woe and dare replace that coal-
some firmer stuff- with mystery-born fluff
(a lighter texture, of desired form)
and move, through darkness, into lighter plains;
reform, through likeness, into Love's great pains.