I travel to thee with the sun's first rays, That lift the dark west and unwrap the night; I dwell beside thee when he walks the height, And fondly toward thee at his setting gaze. I wait upon thy coming, but always-- Dancing to meet my thoughts if they invite-- Thou hast outrun their longing with delight, And in my solitude dost mock my praise. Now doth my drop of time transcend the whole: I see no fame in Khufu's pyramid, No history where loveless Nile doth roll. --This is eternal life, which doth forbid Mortal detraction to the exalted soul, And from her inward eye all fate hath hid. 30 My lady pleases me and I please her; This know we both, and I besides know well Wherefore I love her, and I love to tell My love, as all my loving songs aver. But what on her part could the passion stir, Tho' 'tis more difficult for love to spell, Yet can I dare divine how this befel, Nor will her lips deny it if I err. She loves me first because I love her, then Loves me for knowing why she should be loved. And that I love to praise her, loves again. So from her beauty both our loves are moved, And by her beauty are sustain'd; nor when The earth falls from the sun is this disproved. 31 In all things beautiful, I cannot see Her sit or stand, but love is stir'd anew: 'Tis joy to watch the folds fall as they do, And all that comes is past expectancy. If she be silent, silence let it be; He who would bid her speak might sit and sue The deep-brow'd Phidian Jove to be untrue To his two thousand years' solemnity. Ah, but her launchèd passion, when she sings, Wins on the hearing like a shapen prow Borne by the mastery of its urgent wings: Or if she deign her wisdom, she doth show She hath the intelligence of heavenly things, Unsullied by man's mortal overthrow. 32 Thus to be humbled: 'tis that ranging pride No refuge hath; that in his castle strong Brave reason sits beleaguer'd, who so long Kept field, but now must starve where he doth hide; That industry, who once the foe defied, Lies slaughter'd in the trenches; that the throng Of idle fancies pipe their foolish song, Where late the puissant captains fought and died. Thus to be humbled: 'tis to be undone; A forest fell'd; a city razed to ground; A cloak unsewn, unwoven and unspun Till not a thread remains that can be wound. And yet, O lover, thee, the ruin'd one, Love who hath humbled thus hath also crown'd. 33