Xxvii

Fervency of sense, of heart, of soul-- Vain words created to despoil love's powers; Sun, you distinguish not between your flames Of all your evening, dawn, or midday hours.

You move all blinded by your proper light Through blazing space, beneath the arched sky, Knowing alone that your great, ample power Works at things mysterious and high.

For love means exaltation's ceaseless deeds; Oh you whose sweetness sweetens my proud heart, What need to weigh the pure gold of our dream? I love you wholly, with my every part.