Two faces and two bosoms, breathing slowly 
In tune and time with the sea’s hymn below, 
Breathing in peace of love, mighty and holy, 
Fearing to fuse, and longing—be it so ! 
And the world’s pulse stops, as God bends him lowly 
To hear and know. . . . . . . . 
 
 
For not the heights of heaven shall exalt her 
Whose heart is full of love’s dumb deity, 
Nor harp-strings lift me, nor the sound of psalter, 
Whose love is merged and molten into thee, 
Nor incense sweeter be by shrine or altar 
For you and me. . . . . . . . 
 
 
But like dove’s eyes where glamour lies a-dwelling, 
Like sweet well-water rising in the well, 
Strong steep black currents thrust up, flooding, welling, 
Into the moonlight, swift, adorable,— 
So kisses cluster, so our bosoms swelling 
Abide and dwell. . . . . . . . 
 
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