Chapter XXXVII: Book IV: The Yellow Poppy

“But oh, the night! oh! bitter-sweet, oh, sweet!
O dark, O moon and stars, O ecstasy
Of darkness! O great mystery of love,—
In which absorbed, loss, anguish, treason’s self
Enlarges rapture—as a pebble dropt
In some full winecup over-brims the wine!”

_Aurora Leigh._