Love is Passing

Love is passing through the street.Love, imperishably sweet,On his silver-sandaled feetDraweth near.

Suppliant he came of yore,—Comes he now as conqueror?Will he, pausing at my door,Enter here?

Once his lips were ruby-red,And his wings like gold, outspread,And the roses crowned his head,As in story;

And, though these he now disguise,Ever a lost paradiseIn the azure of his eyesKeeps its glory.

Love is passing through the street—Love, imperishably sweet,And were death our way to meet,I would dare it.

Come he suppliant, as before,Come he as a conqueror,—So he turn not from my door,I can bear it!