Love is Blind

  And can you tell me Love is blind
  Because your faults he will not find,
  Because the image that he sees
  Is one of splendid mysteries?
  And if he lack the power to look
  On what he will, as on a book,
  And read therein the heart of it,
  Why are his ways with wonder lit?
  Why think you he should bind his eyes
  And hide the many-tinted skies,
  But that he sees too well to trust
  The shadows on an orb of dust?
  For he hath vision keener far
  Than poring Thought’s and Fancy’s are
  An inward vision, full and clear
  When night has flung her mantle sheer
  Across the world we stumble through
  In search of Truth’s evasive clue.
  He looks, and straight there fall away
  The flutt’ring rags of your array,
  The far-fet gem, th’ indecent drape,
  The pads that mar the perfect shape,
  And naked to his reverent view
  Is beauty’s self, essential you.