But, lighting each dear feature of her face
The thought of love enduring, pure and strong—
True poet, in Parnassus’ shadow still
Feeling the loadstone of blessed Calvary’s hill.
V.
To that sad mount how eloquent a guide!
Not Hybla’s blossoms could so fair beguile
The wandering bees as thy entreating wile
Faint souls to climb that seeming arid side.
With strength thou lead’st from seraph-haunted cave