Sonnet Cclxxvi: Poem by George Henry Boker

A golden circle for my lady's hand,
Crowned with a ruby 'twixt the outspread wings
Of that eternal globe which brooding swings
Over the mystery or the eldest land.
Such is the ring, and thus my fancy planned
The fiery jewel, as a sign that brings
The fountain whence my glowing passion springs
Ever before her, when her eyes command.
O winged globe, be present in her mind
With the remembrance that the love we pledge
Not upon earth contented rest can find.
Soul-like, immortal, on the crumbling edge
Of time it stands, its venturous plumes to fledge
For flights as mystic as the viewless wind.