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 Moan In Selfish-Wise. 1866.