 | The poems of Maria Lowell |  |
44
SONNET
I love thee for thyself alone—thyself alone;For that great soul, whose breath most full and rare,
Shall to humanity a message bear,
Flooding their dreary waste with organ-tone:
The truth that in thine eyes holds starry throne
And coins the words that issue from thy lips;
Heroic courage, that meets no eclipse,
And humbler virtues on thy pathway strewn;—
These love I so, that if they swift uprise
To sure fulfilment in more perfect spheres,
Still will I listen underneath the skies
For thy new song, with seldom-dropping tears,
And midst my daily tasks of love will wait
The angel Death, guardian of Heaven's gate.
| The poems of Maria Lowell | |