My Love

My Love is like great music when it fills
Man's heart and brain with high, all-hail delight;
My Love is like some still, immaculate night,
When through the hushed and sleeping earth there thrills
God's very peace; my Love is like the hills
That welcome first the dawn upon each height, —
For is she not as pure as they and bright.
With eyes like sunlight upon wind-kissed rills?

But ah, my song, that thou canst never say
How fairer far she is than all these things, —
My governing moon by night, my sun by day,
My nightingale, in whom the whole choir sings,
My summer of women, in whose beauty clings
What men to pluck would give their souls away!