SIN, THE SWORD
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!