Not with my Soul, Love ! bid no Soul like mine 
Lap thee around nor leave the poor Sense room ! 
Soul, travel-worn, toil- weary, would confine 
Along with Soul, Soul's gains from glow and gloom, 
Captures from soarings high and divings deep. 
Spoil-laden Soul, how should such memories sleep ? 
Take Sense, too let me love entire and whole 
    Not with my Soul ! 

Eyes shall meet eyes and find no eyes between, 
Lips feed on lips, no other lips to fear !
No past, no future so thine arms but screen 
The present from surprise ! not there, 'tis here 
Not then, 'tis now: back, memories that intrude ! 
Make, Love, the universe our solitude,
And, over all the rest, oblivion roll
    Sense quenching Soul !