Love, that Love cannot share,—
⁠Now turn to air!
And fade to ashes, O my daily bread,
⁠Save only if you may
⁠Bless you, to be the stay
⁠⁠Of the uncomforted.

Behold, you far-off lights,—
⁠From smoke-veiled heights,
If there be dwelling in our wilderness!
⁠For Love the refugee,
⁠No stronghold can there be,—
No shelter more, while these go shelterless.

Love hath no home, beside
⁠His own two arms spread wide;—
The only home, among all walls that are:
⁠So there may come to cling,
⁠Some yet forlorner thing
Feeling its way, along this blackened star.