If there be subjects which would please you more

I shall be glad to honor your request.

In manly tones or softly as a dove,

No matter how I speak, I speak of love.

VIII

How strange it seems, now half a life away From childhood dreams-the laughing and the sad Of my young years to come upon a day Much brighter far than any charm I had In that lost youth; to hold here in my hand A talisman beyond the wealth of kingsAnd know that this is nothing I had planned Or dared to hope for in the scheme of things.

This love! I muse and turn it all about,

But only add to my astonishment.

"It can't be mine!" I feel impelled to shout,

"I'm not the one for whom this gift was meant!"

And suddenly, with all my fear confessed,

I clutch it still more closely to my breast.

IX

Nor ever the greening earth, the clover, Nor ever petals fallen in the spring.

Shall offer scent when this strange love is over And there remains no trace of anything That led us down this lane of strong desireThat bade us search and find enchantment here.

I had not planned to take the sacred fire Into my breast, lest it should burn and sear.

But now I know, who never had known before

The depth of my desire and the scourge.

Of a blind passion that will surely gore

Me all my days-an elemental urge

To build an altar and to sacrifice

To certain symbols not considered nice.

X

In the cool depth of darkness-in the night Pricked out with stars, with purple panoplied— There is an outpost never conquered quite

By siege or trickery or gallant deed. A tower standing there is not of stoneBuilt by a kiss and by a kiss subdued— The sound of conflict is a sighing moan,

And peace is made in a quiescent mood.

one

16