A purity serene, no more therein
May creep a false thought ever anywhere.
Yet underneath this love-robe—gift of thine—
I know that you’d not sinned this sin of mine
Nor broken sacred vows as I have done;
Yet judge me not too harshly, Dear, Dear One,
Than mortal women I have been most lone,
The heart must have a home! Let that atone.
XV
Do you recall the day when first we met?