She, To Him Iv

Thomas Hardy

     This love puts all humanity from me;
       I can but maledict her, pray her dead,
     For giving love and getting love of thee--
       Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed!

     How much I love I know not, life not known,
       Save as some unit I would add love by;
     But this I know, my being is but thine own--
       Fused from its separateness by ecstasy.

     And thus I grasp thy amplitudes, of her
       Ungrasped, though helped by nigh-regarding eyes;
     Canst thou then hate me as an envier
       Who see unrecked what I so dearly prize?
     Believe me, Lost One, Love is lovelier
       The more it shapes its moans in selfish-wise.

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