Are we not happy? though this bond of ours
Be strange and out of harmony with life
As men accept it, in this world of strife
Between the spirit and the flesh?— Dark hours
Are in the doom of every love; no flowers
Bloom rainless; wind and war and pain are rife
Within us all.— Yet we are happy. Wife
Or sister, these are earth-words; the soul showers
Its gifts of love and seeks no earthly bond.
So ask we none but, smiling, soul to soul
Stand gathered in Love's very essence, whole
And indivisible. These white strong bands
Suffice;‘ tis but the shell, too frail and fond,
That weeps, alas! and wrings her mortal hands.