 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
377
GREAT LOVE.
I.
GREAT LOVE IS HUMBLE.
Humble is Love, for he is Honor's child:
He knows the worth of her he does adore,
And that high reckoning humbles him the more:
By her dear sweetness from his pain beguiled,
He would be proud because her look is mild;
But all the while he scans the oft-told score,
And his imperfectness must still deplore,
Abashed no less because on him she smiled.
He knows the worth of her he does adore,
And that high reckoning humbles him the more:
By her dear sweetness from his pain beguiled,
He would be proud because her look is mild;
But all the while he scans the oft-told score,
And his imperfectness must still deplore,
Abashed no less because on him she smiled.
To be allowed to love is Love's dear prize:
To lay his homage at Her royal feet—
To enter thus the true heart's paradise,
The name of names forever to repeat,
And read his sentence in her answering eyes—
Love should be humble—his reward is meet.
To lay his homage at Her royal feet—
To enter thus the true heart's paradise,
The name of names forever to repeat,
And read his sentence in her answering eyes—
Love should be humble—his reward is meet.
378
II.
GREAT LOVE IS PROUD.
For very humbleness Great Love is proud:
The round world were a tribute thrice too small
To render to the rightful queen of all—
Yet why should Love's least gift be disavowed—
If once her royal head the queen has bowed,
Lending her gracious ear to the low call
Of him whose glory is to be her thrall—
Who only prays his worship be allowed?
The round world were a tribute thrice too small
To render to the rightful queen of all—
Yet why should Love's least gift be disavowed—
If once her royal head the queen has bowed,
Lending her gracious ear to the low call
Of him whose glory is to be her thrall—
Who only prays his worship be allowed?
Once to have known her fairness—who is fair
Beyond the dreamer's dream, the painter's art—
This, only this, were bliss above compare:
But if he find the gateway to her heart,
Shall he not, like a king, be set apart
Who for one royal moment entered there?
Beyond the dreamer's dream, the painter's art—
This, only this, were bliss above compare:
But if he find the gateway to her heart,
Shall he not, like a king, be set apart
Who for one royal moment entered there?
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |