Better than life, better than sea and morn,
And all the sun-stained fragments of the day —
Ah! more than breeze, than purple clouds that stray
Across dim twilights — I, the tempest-torn,
Fighting the stars for glory, who must scorn
Heart-drops bespread along love's cruel way
Like scattered petals on the breast of May —
Better than life I love you, I forlorn.
Better than death — the sleeping and the peace
When warm within the breast of brooding Earth
My weary heart should give its woes release,
The pitiful dark remembering not my loss,
The calm, wise years restoring joy for dearth —
Better than death, my love, my burning cross.