Love's Stress

About my love, O love, why do I sing?
Canst thou by my weak words my great love know?
Or can I hope that any words should show
That exquisite interchange of June with Spring
That makes thy sweet soul the divine, sweet thing
Of which no man the memory lets go.
Once having known? What breath have I to blow
The clarion of thy praise to echoing?

I sing, not for thy sake, nor for men's sake, —
I do but sing to ease my soul from stress
Of love, and thy deep, passionate loveliness;
So, in some great despair, our hearts must break
But for our bitter sobs and frantic cries,
Sent out against the inaccessible skies.