The Triumph of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

O my Belovèd, had I loved thee less
I might have asked for more,—I might have prayed
To feast my senses on thy loveliness,
To wreathe my brow with flowers that bloom and fade.
I might have dreamed of warm encircling arms,
Of kisses telling what words dare not say,
Of love enmeshed in beauty's fatal charms,
Of love whose torrent sweeps its banks away.
But ever as I saw the sacred fire,
Flashed from afar, irradiate thine eyes,
Taught by its very passion to aspire,
My love grew worthy of its glorious prize;—
Until at last, transfigured by its aim,
It quenched with light its own devouring flame.