Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight-
Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow),
That bade me pause before that garden-gate,
To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,
Save only the and me. (Oh, heaven!-oh, God!
How my heart beats in coupling those words!)
Save only thee and me. I paused-I looked-
And in an instant all things disappeared...
All-all expired save thee-save less than thou:
Save only the divine light in thine eyes-
Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.
I saw but them- they were the world to me.
I saw but them- saw only them for hours-
Saw only them until the moon went down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How daring an ambition! yet how deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!
from "To Helen(Whitman)" by Edgar Allen Poe
