from  TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA
                   - Robert Browning

How say you? Let us, O my dove,
  Let us be unashamed of soul,
As earth lies bare to Heaven above.
  How is it under our control
To love or not to love?

I would that you were all to me,
  You that are just so much, no more -
Nor yours nor mine, - nor slave nor free!
   Where does the fault lie? what the core
Of the wound, since wound must be?

I would I could adopt your will,
   See with your eyes, and set my heart
Beating by yours, and drink my fill
   At your soul's springs, - your part, my part
In life, for good and ill.

No. I yearn upward - touch you close,
   Then stand away. I kiss your cheek,
Catch your soul's warmth, - I pluck the rose
   And love it more than tongue can speak -
Then the good minute goes.

Just when I seemed about to learn!
   Where is the thread now? Off again!
The old trick! Only I discern -
   Infinite passion and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn.