I can say now, “There was the confluence Of all Love’s tributaries; there the sea Of Love spread out towards eternity; And there my coarser touched her finer sense.
Poor though I am in my own sight, I know That thou hast winnowed, sweet, what best I am; Upon my restlessness thy ample calm Hath fallen as on frost-bound earth the snow.
It hideth the harsh furrows that the wheels Of heavy trials made in Life’s champaign; Upon its pure unfolding sunshine steals,
And there is promise of the spring again. Here make I proclamation of my faith, And poise my fealty o’er the head of Death.”