For we had wandered into Love’s strange clime
Through ways sin waits to slay.
Love’s euphony,
In Love’s own temple that is our glad hearts,
Makes now long music wild deliciously;
Now Grief hath used his darts.
Love infinite,
Chastened by sorrow, hallowed by pure flame—
Not all the surging world can compass it.
Love—Love—O tremulous name!