Beside her I could be a thousand years
And talk with her, and muse, and think I caught
Her very spirit, and yet catch it not;
So subtle is it: Two translucent spheres
Should flash it forth; it flames, then disappears.
A mouth all music should translate it well;
It flows like music--whither none can tell;
It wraps all senses round, soothes, charms, and cheers.
And when we feel, peer, listen, would confine
And grasp its very self, it slips away,
Like the elusive beauty of a day
In autumn, leaving of its track no sign.
And yet the search we every day renew,
Pleased to be foiled, yet foiled, still to pursue.