Sin was a terrible and ruddy sword,

My hands were only lilies, only made

To lay against his lips, and so I prayed

Another weapon. Willingly I poured

On his strong heart the gifts that could accord

With my life’s fact, but Ah! the gifts were weighed

And all found wanting—and I was afraid

Of love which was so dreadfully my lord.

He showed me the magnificence, the height

To be attained for those who dare to seek,

For those who dare the wonder and delight.

I might attain—I might—but if I should!—

I was afraid, my fainting heart was weak,

And so, Love help me, I was only—good!