Indeed This Very Love Which Is My Boast, And Which, When Rising Up From Breast To Brow, Doth Crown Me With A Ruby Large Enow To Draw Men'S Eyes And Prove The Inner Cost, This Love Even, All My Worth, To The Uttermost, I Should Not Love Withal, Unless That Thou Hadst Set Me An Example, Shown Me How, When First Thine Earnest Eyes With Mine Were Crossed, And Love Called Love. And Thus, I Cannot Speak Of Love Even, As A Good Thing Of My Own: Thy Soul Hath Snatched Up Mine All Faint And Weak, And Placed It By Thee On A Golden Throne, And That I Love (O Soul, We Must Be Meek!) Is By Thee Only, Whom I Love Alone.