Epigram XCIII

Dear Heart, I go a journey, yet before
Would speak this counsel, for I come no more
One love our life had, yet a greater still
The Spirit must fulfill.

Not now the wife is dear for love of wife.
But for the Self; and this our golden life
For life no more we treasure, it is dear
For that the Self dwells here.

And this beguiling world, the starry dome
Of purple and the gods who call it home,
Man, beast, and flowers that blow and blowing perish,
Not for themselves we cherish,

But for the Self. And this is love, and they
Who look for other on the lonely way
Are still forsaken. — Tremble not, dear Heart!
Love stays though I depart.