I sit in clear air with the sun o’erhead,
And take my share, repining not, and find
Perpetual feast in just such daily bread:
Asking no more than what unasked is sent;
Freedom is dearer still than love may be;
And I, my dearest, am at last content,
Content to love thee and to leave thee free.
Love me then not, for pity nor for prayer,
But as the sunshine loveth and the rain,
Which speed them gladly through the upper air