Love letter # 517

For what have I yielded, for what airs have I thrown up shutters to inrush? What hath impelled me to cede once guarded ground?

Tis not for God or other compulsion. Tis not for reckless chance. I do not seek release from solitude, nor the flattery of the becoming eye. Yet, upon your herald I knew.

There was no tally of your graces, no recourse to reason. I acted for beauty alone, which is the sovereign reason. Neither the fetching, nor the fashionable shall pass for beautiful. Yet you.

This mystery, this veiled volition, this eclipsed body we orbit…it hath no quality but itself and needs no describing. Only that I know it in you; as snow in spring to river runs. For beauty alone shall we untether.         

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