| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917. |
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| 101. The Thought of Her |
| | | By Richard Hovey |
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| MY love for thee doth take me unaware, | |
| When most with lesser things my brain is wrought | |
| As in some nimble interchange of thought | |
| The silence enters, and the talkers stare. | |
| Suddenly I am still and thou art there, | 5 |
| A viewless visitant and unbesought, | |
| And all my thinking trembles into nought | |
| And all my being opens like a prayer. | |
| Thou art the lifted Chalice in my soul, | |
| And I a dim church at the thought of thee; | 10 |
| Brief be the moment, but the mass is said, | |
| The benediction like an aureole | |
| Is on my spirit, and shuddering through me | |
| A rapture like the rapture of the dead. | |
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