Are there two things, of all which men possess,
That are so like each other and so near,
Dear Asra, woman beyond utterance dear!
This love which ever welling at my heart,
Now in its living fount doth heave and fall,
Now overflowing pours thro’ every part
Of all my frame, and fills and changes all,
Like vernal waters springing up through snow,
Of growth, yet seemeth ever more to grow,
Could I transmute the whole to one rich Dower
Thy lot, methinks, were Heaven, thy age, Eternity!
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