Xxvii

The gift of body, when the soul is given, Is naught but harmony Of two tendernesses driven One to the other, fervidly. Glory in thyself thou findest sweet. So fair in thy fresh purity, Only to offer me The wondrous gift complete. I come to thee, and know Exaltation in this gift of thine; Always the truer, the more pure I grow Since thy dear body gave itself to mine. Love! oh, may it overflow Our hearts and be the reason in our lives, Whose maddest happiness is one that strives Toward the madness of a trust divine.