As erst with thee, O Psyche, so me-seems My wandering hands touched Love once in my dreams. Asleep he lay. Around us drooped the night. No gracious star-beam lent revealing light. I saw his form not, nor his matchless grace. And yet, unlike to thee, Need was not I should look him in the face. By that one touch, all in a moment's space, I knew him for a God! |