Eros

I, who am Love, come clothed in mystery,As rose my beauteous mother from the Sea,Veiling my luminous wings from mortal sight—Whether at noon or in the star-strewn night—That I may pass unrecognized and free.

Ignoring them that idly seek for me,Unto mine own, from all eternityI come with heart aflame and torch alight—I who am Love!

What bring I them? Ah, draughts that sweeter beThan welling waters of Callirrhoe!What give I them? Life!—even in Death's despite;And upward still I lead them to the heightOf an immortal passion's purity!—I who am Love.