Confession — XII
O Love, to thee I own, I wept in Night’s dark Thought;
But now thy radiant Sun to me hath bright Day brought.
O Soul of my own Soul, my I as I am Thou:
Thou art the All, and I in thee have all I sought.
Thou art Life’s Sweetness self, Intoxication full,—
The brimming Sea of Pearls, the Gold to pureness wrought.
Whoe’er approaches thee, must first his Soul resign;
He dies beneath thy frown, lives when thy Smile is caught.
Thy Favour thrills in fear the trembling Lover’s heart,
Till comes thy Wrath and smites his Weakness into Naught.