[BNP/E3, 31A – 55]

67

The Bridge

Kisses on me like dew

     Pour, and it shall be morn

My wakèd spirit through.

     My bowed, greyed head adorn

With bays, that I may view

     My shadow crowned and smile even as I mourn.

Although my head is bent,

     Thy feet, sandalled with hope,

Pass and are eloquent

     I' th' way they do not stop.

Somewhere i'th' grass they are blent

     With that of me that does for meanings grope.

Let us be lovers aye,

     Out of all flesh agreeing,

Lovers in some new way

     That needs not words not seeing.

Thus abstract, our love may

     Not ours, be but a vague breath of Pure Being.