ROMANCE
Its untapped flood of coldness or devotion,
Freezing or burning life to ice or cinder;
Your own soul's naked progress through the hours,
Its curious pligrimage through things that hinder,
That it cleaves as a light parts mistiness,
Old doubts seen clearly, new problems starkly seen,
Which must be met with undivided powers,—
Can misty, imagined land
Or night-dark visions, mean
So much as things at hand,
Tinily wondrous, intimately grand?
Freezing or burning life to ice or cinder;
Your own soul's naked progress through the hours,
Its curious pligrimage through things that hinder,
That it cleaves as a light parts mistiness,
Old doubts seen clearly, new problems starkly seen,
Which must be met with undivided powers,—
Can misty, imagined land
Or night-dark visions, mean
So much as things at hand,
Tinily wondrous, intimately grand?
The postman's casual whistle looses daily
Innumerable fancies; each greeting of a friend
Is only welcoming gaily
Another soul on travel, who may lend
Some of his clinging soul-dust to your own;
The vague caress you squander on a kitten,
The home-kiss—these unleash the self-same fire
That lifted Beatrice heaven-higher
Innumerable fancies; each greeting of a friend
Is only welcoming gaily
Another soul on travel, who may lend
Some of his clinging soul-dust to your own;
The vague caress you squander on a kitten,
The home-kiss—these unleash the self-same fire
That lifted Beatrice heaven-higher
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