Far where mine own zealous love doth abide;
Such mystery in solemn repose doth stir
Fantasy fears not the bold changing tide;
Turning obscurity’s bliss that once were
How can thy toil accept all sightless haste;
Making of thine own a ghastly image
Bearing senses blind thy soul’s bitter taste
By Jove, bestow thine moral pilgrimage
Let I in thund’rous night haste me onward
Mine tears boldly as rain and fervent be;
Do eagerly move this story forward
Thy heart a broken jewel in treasur’d sea;
Shimmering upon the tide’s reverie
Lo! let it be known, thine I will always be.