When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until our lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point, -what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here content? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved, -where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With the darkness and the death-hour rounding it.


Penned by my hand on the 17th of Ero, in the year 409 AF.