Emily Jane Pfeiffer
Love, show thine eyes, thy stature infinite;
Thou child of dust? Thou slave of breathing clay?
Remorseless mocker then, why blast with light
The dwarfs of time—the failures of a day?
Why lead them to the rifts within the veil
Where life with life communes, and where a kiss
Can open vistas of eternal bliss?
Is it to make the sharpened senses quail
Before that reeling blank, that sheer abyss
Of nothingness that waits us? Vindicate
Thy Godhead, and our trust in thee,—our fate
Is linked with thine, O Love, as bent and pale
Thou stand'st arraigned, and in man's latest plan
Art shown the true arch-enemy of man.