True beauty are you at its utmost height,
of supplest flesh and spirit heaven-sent —
the sun beholds you and thinks poor its light;
the stars that shine shine you, the rest are spent.
But those you know the best, your grace repels —
for they themselves cannot such heights attain,
nor relish that in one so near there dwells
a greatness of such otherworldly strain.
I went to show you, there are more than these —
that I, who see you, love you none the less —
but they have sent you off, with futile pleas
to douse or hide the light that you possess.
They have not told me where you aim to go
or, when you get there, what you hope to find;
but certain that some day to you will show
the bliss you once engendered in my mind,
through strange environs I have set my tracks;
my fears and doubts and perils ring me round;
I leave all peace and plenty at my back
to seek you out while still you are unfound.