SHATTER the manacles of self

And set Love free,

To leave no threat of dyke or delf

'Tween thou and me.

And make the orts and shreds of Night,

If Night must be,

A nothing, through that single light

I find in thee.

As in the aftermath of storm

Great calm we see,

My ways reflect the zenith Form,

Becalmed by thee.

No hope to forge, through grateful gifts,

Equality :

I'd be the Gratefulness that lifts

The spring to thee—

One with the grey dawn's laugh that staves

The dark from thee—

Or surge with the golden-trance-lit waves

Of a sunset sea.