Love Is Blind

And can you tell me Love is blind     Because your faults he will not find,     Because the image that he sees     Is one of splendid mysteries?     And if he lack the power to look     On what he will, as on a book,     And read therein the heart of it,     Why are his ways with wonder lit?     Why think you he should bind his eyes     And hide the many-tinted skies,     But that he sees too well to trust     The shadows on an orb of dust?     For he hath vision keener far     Than poring Thoughts and Fancys are     An inward vision, full and clear     When night has flung her mantle sheer     Across the world we stumble through     In search of Truths evasive clue.     He looks, and straight there fall away     The fluttring rags of your array,     The far-fet gem, th indecent drape,     The pads that mar the perfect shape,     And naked to his reverent view     Is beautys self, essential you.