A time there was, when for thy beauty's prize—
Hadst thou but deemed my love that prize deserved—
What hope, what faith my daring heart had nerved
For proud achievement and for high emprize!
No Knight, that owned the spell of Beauty's eyes
And wore her sleeve upon his helm, had served
His vows with faith like mine; I ne'er had swerved
One jot from mine for all beneath the skies.

That time is dead, alas! and yet this heart
Is thine, still thine, with Love's high chivalry
And Faith that cannot die; but now its part
Must be a higher knighthood,—patiently
To brook life's ills, and, pierced with many a dart,
By sacrifice of self to merit thee.