Dulcinea

My lady speaks, and like a clarion, Sweet tones steal over chasms, as they steel My heart's resolve, that even Darién, With all its peaks expires of its appeal, So that to now make good my whispered oath Becomes my all, and thus becomes me well. My own--and to all else my soul is loath-- Her wish proclaims, and lets the echo tell The warm, impassioned thunder of her lays, Sung sweetly from raptures of soul-fire, While scintillating glimmers in her gaze, Likewise, betoken forth her heart's desire. And I my faltered steps direct to light, At length, upon no place but where she will. Less a knight-errant than an errant knight, However, I remain, and so fulfill, Imperfectly, the charge that is my own, And only seek my lady's smile to win Through all the deeds in this poor body shown (Which, not my own, is hers, and she within Me through all things past, present, and to come, Which I, for her, may do beneath the sun). Of all I know of us, this is the sum: That she and I are we, and we are one.