I worship you like night's pavilion,
O vase of sadness, o great silent one,
And love you more since you escape from me,
And since you seem, my night's sublimity,
To mock me and increase the leagues that lie
Between my arms and blue immensity.
I move to attack, beseige, assail,
Like eager worms after a funeral.
I even love, o beast implacable,
The coldness which makes you more beautiful.
Not the desperation, desolation and anguish of unrequited love, but the distant, chill and pitiless scent of the object of that doomed desire. White musk, osmanthus, Nile lily and frankincense.