Mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is Love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favorite seat be feeble womans breast.
He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal, The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferers temples bind Wreaths that endure afflictions heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrows keenest wind.