VI.

To be his wife! Calm all my soul is filling, A calm too deep for smiles—or even tears; A perfect trust to slumber subtly stilling My whilom doubts and fears.

Each little common thing to me seems rarer, My life each day becomes more dear to me; Love, am I fair? Ah, fain would I be fairer— And yet more fair for thee.

Like to a priestess some loved shrine adorning, I deck the charms but poorly prized, till late, The beauty once I held too slight for scorning— To thee, now consecrate!

As if some god of old had stooped to love me— Some star had pierced my darkness with its ray— I worship thee—an idol throned above me— Forgetting thou art clay.

Rejoicing in the gift that God has given, I may forget the Giver. Love, I fear Lest I shall e'en forget to sigh for Heaven— When heaven for me is here!