What other woman could be loved like you, br Or how of you should love possess his fill? br After the fulness of all rapture, still,— br As at the end of some deep avenue br A tender glamour of day,—there comes to view br Far in your eyes a yet more hungering thrill,— br Such fire as Love's soul-winnowing hands distil br Even from his inmost ark of light and dew. br And as the traveller triumphs with the sun, br Glorying in heat's mid-height, yet startide brings br Wonder new-born, and still fresh transport springs br From limpid lambent hours of day begun;— br Even so, through eyes and voice, your soul doth move br My soul with changeful light of infinite love.