On the Beautiful One

As that first, perfect autumn day that comes,
She’s clear and sharp and heaven to breathe in;
And neither time nor fashion’s blurred her edge,
Nor lessened her by so much as a pin –

For new in thought and passion is her way,
And phrased as though the universe entire
Is hers to run along and float to sky;
She sends me like a box-kite ever higher –

But what is known to us is known to none
Except the two who share this mystery:
And what she seems to you is known by you,
But what she is – in part – is just for me
To know, and love – and try, with words, to tell
What, like the autumn, can be only

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