[THE COMING OF LOVE]
I dreamed that love came, as the oak trees grow,
By the chance dropping of a tiny seed;
And then from moon to moon with steady speed,
Tho' torn by winds and chilled with heedless snow,
The sap of pulsing life would upward flow,
'Till in its might the heavens themselves could read
Portents of power that they must learn to heed.
This was my dream—the waking proved not so—
For love came like a flower, and grew apace;