The Chaos He Loves
The black sea and the hustling black city,
And the white half-moon large and low;
And the startled little breezes that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep.
As I take the pen with pushing prow,
And quench its speed to the very slow.
You walk in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies.
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet all your aspect and your eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade of her, one glimpse the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace;
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens over her face.
And on your cheek, and over that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow.
She asked me not write every day,
but how will I survive every day.
The importance might get lost some day,
But my love will always find some way.
How can I not wonder, how beautiful she is,
How can I not tender, all of her grace.
I don't want to write, but I see her face,
And then pen starts like it's a race.
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love you to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being an ideal Grace.