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Updated: May 5, 2025
For all my days as all thy days from birth My heart as thy heart was in me as thee Fire, and not all the fountains of the sea Have waves enough to quench it; nor on earth Is fuel enough to feed, While day sows night, and night sows day for seed. This intensity of perception is largely the result, or the cause, of the poet's unusually sensitive consciousness of the ephemeralness of love.
Antiquity gilds journey-work; remoteness and quaintness of phrasing lend a kind of distinction to what are simply pamphlets or text-books that have been preserved by accident from the ephemeralness which was the common lot of hundreds of their fellows.
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