Song

Seek not the tree of silkiest bark And balmiest bud, To carve her name while yet ’tis dark Upon the wood! The world is full of noble tasks And wreaths hard won: Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands, Till day is done.

Sing not that violet-veined skin, That cheek’s pale roses, The lily of that form wherein Her soul reposes! Forth to the fight, true man! true knight! The clash of arms Shall more prevail than whisper’d tale, To win her charms.

The Warrior for the True, the Right, Fights in Love’s name; The love that lures thee from that flight Lures thee to shame: That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves The spirit free,— That love, or none, is fit for one Man-shap’d like thee.