When One Man Dies, One Chapter Is

All Other Things To Their Destruction Draw, Only Our Love Hath No Decay.

Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

Twice Or Thrice Had I Loved Thee Before I Knew Thy Face Or Name, So In A Voice, So In A Shapeless Flame, Angels Affect Us Oft, And Worshiped Be.

But He Who Loveliness Within Hath Found, All Outward Loathes, For He Who Color Loves, And Skin, Loves But Their Oldest Clothes.

Thy Face Is Mine Eye, And Mine Is Thine.