Sonnet: This

Withal such love within our worlds may be:
So must it live within our mind’s frontier?
Or might it dwell within our heart–sincere
Within our soul–wherein we may not see?

Can this I feel, though cannot touch in thee?
May such as this, made manifest, appear?
Or when such love perceivest thou, revere?
Dost this thou feel, though canst not touch in mee?

Yet of this unseen thing are we aware,
As much we would this phantom to possess;
For all its joys impart or its despair
Doth bring to us when once this thing profess.
So dangerous a thing should we declare,
That oft might curse, as well as it might bless.

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