I’ve been in love for long
With what I cannot tell
And will contrive a song
For the intangible
That has no mold or shape,
From which there’s no escape.
It is not even a name,
Yet is all constancy;
Tried or untried, the same,
It cannot part from me;
A breath, yet as still
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-QYv6b3hCrfgEC2zk3V7QTcZSGMUv7rE4vF0heYrjfvWUsBj9akGtTbHGjhJwsRdLHshyphenhyphen2WptpjRM37YNMcqDhnhHybX-8UqCVUDt5_mMqmHT7RkEdfP2KHUshid1a6sgquj8tfqdx4/s1600/abundant_joy_by_nancy_eckels___abstract__contemporary__modern_art__painting_3ab3ad12d3d6cababf2ad2ad61347a7f.jpg)
It is not any thing,
And yet all being is;
Being, being, being,
Its burden and its bliss.
How can I ever prove
What it is I love?
This happy happy love
Is sieged with crying sorrows,
Crushed beneath and above
Between todays and morrows;
A little paradise
Held in the world’s vice.
And there it is content
And careless as a child,
And in imprisonment
Flourishes sweet and wild;
In wrong, beyond wrong,
All the world’s day long.
This love a moment known
For what I do not know
And in a moment gone
Is like the happy doe
That keeps its perfect laws
Between the tiger’s paws
And vindicates its cause.
Image credit: "Abundant Joy," acrylic on canvas, by Nancy Eckels (originally color).
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