“FRIENDS VANISH AT MY FACE”

Friends vanish at my face; yet, as they fly, Swoll’n with the sombre mood of conjured schism, I hear thee say thou whom the holy chrism Has sealed as mine eternal—“Dear, do I Outweigh the scales; if this one form be nigh, Shall that suffice thee in this dark abysm?” Ah, think, Belov’d! did some great cataclysm Fierce-swoop upon to enshroud the midnight sky, Did gulf the multitudinous stars but one, Some Betelgeuse, in beauty-flame of love Gleaming and twinkling in the lowly mart Of tremulous darkness, how ’twould swell upon The vaults of Heaven; how rare so poised above! Even so in lone magnificence thou art!