That Love should find a way through iron bars
And close-drawn bolts—this does not seem so strange;—
More strange I count it that with wider range,
With naught to mark its course beneath the stars,
Love finds its sure, swift way. That day when we
First parted, Love, how dangerously near
The chance we never met again! though clear
In the broad daylight, unrestrained and free
As breeze from heaven, naught between us lay
But the wide, shining, trackless fields of air
That gave no sign; the lonely vastness, where
Love saw no clue to guide it, or to stay
Its course;—well might the lover in despair
Yield up his search;—and yet Love found a way!