Oh, make me see Thee, Lord, where'er I go! If mortal beauty sets my soul on fire, That flame when near to Thine must needs expire, And I with love of only Thee shall glow....
There's not on earth a thing more vile and base Than, lacking Thee, I feel myself to be: For pardon prays my own debility, Yearning in vain to lift me to Thy face. ...
Ofttimes my great desire doth flatter me With hope on earth yet many years to stay: Still Death, the more I love it, day by day Takes from the life I love so tenderly....
Perchance that I might learn what pity is, That I might laugh at erring men no more, Secure in my own strength as heretofore, My soul hath fallen from her state of bliss:...
Burdened with years and full of sinfulness, With evil custom grown inveterate, Both deaths I dread that close before me wait, Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less. ...
That thy great beauty on our earth may be Shrined in a lady softer and more kind, I call on nature to collect and bind All those delights the slow years steal from thee,...
Swift through the eyes unto the heart within All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray; So smooth and broad and open is the way That thousands and not hundreds enter in....
When divine Art conceives a form and face, She bids the craftsman for his first essay To shape a simple model in mere clay: This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace....
As one who will reseek her home of light, Thy form immortal to this prison-house Descended, like an angel piteous, To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright....
When masters bind a slave with cruel chain, And keep him hope-forlorn in bondage pent, Use tames his temper to imprisonment, And hardly would he fain be free again....
It is with fire that blacksmiths iron subdue Unto fair form, the image of their thought: Nor without fire hath any artist wrought Gold to its utmost purity of hue....
Sometimes my love I dare to entertain With soaring hope not over-credulous; Since if all human loves were impious, Unto what end did God the world ordain?...
I know not if it be the longed-for light Of her first Maker which the spirit feels; Or if a time-old memory reveals Some other beauty for the heart's delight;...
I cannot by the utmost flight of thought Conceive another form of air or clay, Wherewith against thy beauty to array My wounded heart in armour fancy-wrought:...