Through the Sphinx’s dark eye, destiny we meet, Lean down from your bosom of stars— The rain that falls on the fair-headed wheat, Whose stalks in the sunlight are warm.
Some wait for the sun to enfold them, Fragrant in thrill of the sea, While you in the fire of love, told them—
We are the sunshine, you and me.
Even the nightingale’s song of love, Had none but a man lay the wrong, Yet looks not this shadow above, As moans in a broken song.
- Coventry Patmore