Some need, of sensual nature born,
Subjects the blithest hour of morn;
Eve slaves in beauty to some task
Of Reason, half-ashamed to ask;
Some refuse moments of dull light,
Love's pittance out of all his right
On universal Day and Night.

And yet we love!—

A Hero's bride, by Nature made!
— Yet rather who hath stood,
And with a hero's soul obeyed
A vision pure of blood.

Ah me! what bliss—if it could be—
Acknowledged by thy love,
To breast the world below with thee,
To scale the world above!