{36}

{36}

XXXVI.

Love takes its impress from the formless hues

That signify the thing they yet conceal;

Love leads that heart to life, which it endues

With joys that aggravate the harm they heal;

Love’s treasures are not priceless to all eyes,

All may not learn what their full magic means:

By various grades of hopes, and fears, and sighs,

And ecstacies, and woes, raptures, and dreams,

The soul of man ascends to that it loves,

And is developed into something more;

In a more rich creation now it moves,

And seeks in other souls a priceless ore:

Something it finds, yet loses what it lacks,

So must the conqueror in the town he sacks.

{37}

{37}

XXXVII.

 Prev. P 31/118 next