The passing stranger

Of all the mysteries wherethrough we move,

This is the most mysterious - that a face,

Seen peradventure in some distant place,

Whither we can return no more to prove

The world - old sanctities of human love,

Shall haunt our waking thoughts, and gathering grace

Incorporate itself with every phase

Whereby the soul aspires to God above.

Thus are we wedded through that face to her

Or him who bears it; nay, one fleeting glance,

Fraught with a tale too deep for utterance,

Even as a pebble cast into the sea,

Will on the deep waves of our spirit stir

Ripples that run through all eternity.