To form the idiom of her flesh

I faceted in clearest thought

An arctic crystal in whose mesh

Of frosty rays the sun is caught

That from its central pulse of fire

Vibrates the arrebol it stains,

And forks the azure of her veins

Through flushed auroras of desire.

Though nerves of splendour lace the jewel,

Though to my rasp its ice be fuel

And bright within it burn the brands:

I might have breathed upon a glass—

To feel my purpose through it pass

It runs like water through my hands.