A Jongleur Strayed
Flashes from glass to glass, as she walks by,
In sweet reiteration still--the queen!
So is the world for thee to walk in, sweet;
But to see thee is all things to have seen.
And, as the moon in every crystal lake,
Walking the heaven with little silver feet,
Sees each bright copy her reflection take,
And every dew-drop holds its little glass,
To catch her loveliness as she doth pass,
So do all things make haste to copy thee.
I, then, to see thee thus over and over,
Am wistful too all lovely shapes to see,
For each thus makes me more and more thy lover.
Deem not my love is only for the bloom,
The honey and the marble, that is You;
Tis so, Belovéd, common loves consume
Their treasury, and vanish like the dew.
Nay, but my love's a thing that's far more true;
For little loves a little hour hath room,