The sum of all the poems I’ve sent
Is quantity of one, true meant;
The quality is straight, unbent,
Made of love, with no repent,
But through my soul it spreads and grows
At steady pace that never slows,
Somewhat like tide, in rolling rows
Of water, going where it knows.
My love for you, dear Lady mine,
Has quality for its high sign,
And quantity, though out of mind,
Is never ever far behind.
Then at the beach, upon the sand,
I splash your feet and kiss your hand;
I’m backed by ocean’s full command
To take you where you lie or stand!
That ocean is my heart, of course,
A-galloping like giant horse;
Each stride a tide of growing force
That runs on up to you, its source.
My quality is in the world,
In every flower, flag unfurled,
In all the winds through forests hurled,
In leaves and petals caught and swirled!
My quantity of one ‘s the sun—
My loving heart that’s never done,
But rises loud through lips and eyes
And sings for you, my Paradise!