  IN empty days now left behind, I asked why Love was counted blind. No answer came until I learned What every lover has discerned: The blind—my answer ran—are reft Of one thing, but how much is left! Touch, hearing, every quickened sense Thrills with an impulse thrice intense. And so when Love has filled the heart, Dull man awakes in every part; Undreamed-of potencies are rife Within him, crying “Sweet is life!” And if half-blindness be his lot, What matter—since he knows it not? M. A. DeWolfe Howe. |
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