With every touch commingled as before,
And every breath and every aspiration,
By this most constant constant inspiration,
Old dreams have shown the same on the same shore.
And knowing ours with all such fervent candor
That in your heart was found my own - Reflection;
That in your eyes saw yours and mine - Perfection,
Fulfilling life as would live evermore:
No striving for myself had left you out,
No yawning chasm have I shyed to cross,
No burden my poor blood did not pour out,
No sea storm on my course too compass-tossed;
What ministers, what rabbis' as devout?
Refusing my own soul had seemed less cost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.