If I could look into your eyes,
Out of their blackest depths I think
That I might draw, as from a well,
Something of you for me to drink.

Others have passed and been as bread
Held to my mouth, others as wine,
But as you pass an older want
Becomes less definitely mine.

The passion of the sun has filled
Your eyes, and filtering, has wrought
A clarity in you that is
A drink of water to my thought.

The wind has followed with its ice.
Now of the flame, the frost, you hold
Reflection that glitters in your eyes,
And is not warmth and is not cold.