Infinity is finite to an extent of infinity,
For rises it infinite and falls it infinite;
But Time is the only other immortal born,
That outpaces the pace of infinity, forlorn;

But if Time was born and so was Infinity;
Perhaps, they are finite in their own vicinity.

Art thou as Heaven, a loveliness undying?
Nay! Thou art more lovely, a flower evergreen,
That blossoms the autumn, when on earth it’s flying,
And adorns the winter in a fashion unseen;

And comes the merry spring, when I envision,
Heaven amidst thee, and amidst heaven thy dance,
Confounds which even Love, like Moon before the Sun;
Tell me, how can I not but melt before thy glance?

For thee my love, immortal, though my heart is not,
For it rusts even now, as thy essence departs;
Even Beauty herself, to me this world hath brought,
But not even she has thy heart, The Heart of Hearts.

Ah! my heart has been seized, I confess,
For it has given thou my place of recess.