Even as theirs, the chance was mine
To meet and mate beneath Love's sign,
To feel in soul and sense
The solemn influence
Which, breathed upon a man or maid,
Maketh forever unafraid,
Though life with death unite
That spirit to affright,—
Which lifts the changèd heart high up,
As the priest lifts the changèd cup,
Boldens the feet to pace
Before God's proving face.
O just a thought beyond the blue
The wings of the dove yearned down and through!
Even now I hear and hear
How near they were, how near!
I murmur not. Rightly disgraced,
The weak hand stretched abroad in haste
For gifts barely allowed
The tacit, strong, and proud.
But therefore was I so intent
To watch where Dante onward went
With the Roman spirit pure
And the grave troubadour,
Because my mind was busy then
With the loves that wait those gentle men:
Cunizza one; and one
Bice, above the sun;
And for the other, more and less
Than woman's near-felt tenderness,
A million voices dim
Praising him, praising him.