Your searching eyes are troubled. They entreat to know my essence as the orb of the night seeks to discern the sea. I have unveiled my life afore your sight , with nothing withheld or unrevealed. That is why you know me not.
If it were only a precious stone I could split it into pieces and string them together to put on your neck.
If it were only a blossom, I could sever it from its stem and give it to you.
But it is a heart, beloved.  Where are its strands and its low base?
You know not the bounds of this realm, yet you rule it.
If it were only a trice of delight, it would blossom in a simple tender smile, and you could see and fathom it in a moment.
If it were only a hurt, it would dissolve in lucid tears, reflecting its mystery without a word.
But it is love , beloved.
Its solace and its aches are boundless and endless its yearnings and worth.
It is as near to you as your own soul but you can never wholly comprehend it.