Make luminous the face. But let that pass:
I murmur not. In my soul Pride is crowned
And throned—a queen; and at her feet lies Love,
Her slave—in chains—that you shall ne’er unclasp.
Yet, oh! if aspirations, ever rising,
With an intense idolatry of love,
Toward all of grace and parity and truth
That we may dream, can shape the soul to beauty,
(As I believe,) then, in that better world,
You will not ask if I were fair on earth.