Modern Love XXXIX: She Yields

 She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood 
Has yielded: she, my golden-crownèd rose! 
The bride of every sense! more sweet than those 
Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood.
 
O visage of still music in the sky 
Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend! 
True harmony within can apprehend 
Dumb harmony without.
 And hark! 'tis nigh! 
Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam 
Of living silver shows me where she shook 
Her long white fingers down the shadowy brook, 
That sings her song, half waking, half in dream.
 
What two come here to mar this heavenly tune ? 
A man is one: the woman bears my name, 
And honour.
 Their hands touch! Am I still tame? 
God, what a dancing spectre seems the moon!

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