Be thou my mirror, love, that I may see
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Myself transfigured in the light of thee,—
Ah! I have need to see my face as thou
Deemest it is—or feignest it to be.
And I! what can I bring? yet this will I:
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Out of my reverence I will build a dome,
Where the wide sorrow of the world shall bow
In prayer, and in the thought of thee find rest,
And in thy smile the homeless find a home;
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The incense of the lilies of thy breast
Shall be a balm upon them, and each caress
Thou givest me shall all the nations bless.
Out of our joy—lo! I will build a dream
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Of lovely words, where all may enter in,
And bathe their weariness as in a stream,
And put away all sorrow and all sin.
Ah! but the heart of it shall all be ours,
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Shut in amid a holiness of flowers,
My heart to yours for ever, and my lips
On yours for ever, as the base world slips
Away from us—and nought but thou and I
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Alone, we two, with God, until we die.