I AM the storm that Northward loves to flee,
Thou art the moonlight on a tranquil sea:
How can such I with such a Thou agree?

Thou art the beam that lights the lily's eyes,
I the wild hail that from the black cloud flies;
O endless chasm that between us lies!

I wild, inconstant, earth's dark guest, and Thou,
With almost angel-clearness on thy brow; —
Come, Love, and show thyself almighty, now!