Nay, never ask, beloved, oh, why so late?
Nor marvel I could see yet love thee not,
Love's secrets lie within the book of fate,
Uncyphered and untaught.
The self-same star shines in its lofty sphere,
The poet sees and sees a hundred times,
Before from silvery cloud emerging clear,
'Tis wooed in deathless rhymes.
The self-same melody, unseized, ignored,
May float for years in the composer's brain,
One day he careless strikes his harp's chord,
To find a godlike strain.
And countless suns rise o'er the summer sea,
Before that rosy glow the painter caught,
Transferred to canvas, for all time to be
The fadeless dawn of thought.
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