  If I had never seen Thy sweet grave face, If I had never known Thy pride as of a queen, Yet would another’s grace Have led me to her throne. I should have loved as well Not loving thee, My faith had been as strong Wrought by another spell; Her love had grown to be As thine for fire and song. Yet is our love a thing Alone, austere, A new and sacred birth That we alone could bring Through flames of faith and fear To pass upon the earth. As one who makes a rhyme Of his fierce thought, With momentary art May challenge change and time, So is the love we wrought Not greatest, but apart. |
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