IV
What is Success? Out of the endless oreOf deep desire to coin the utmost goldOf passionate memory; to have lived so wellThat the fifth moon, when it swims up once moreThrough orchard boughs where mating orioles buildAnd apple flowers unfold,Find not of that dear need that all things tellThe heart unburdened nor the arms unfilled.
O Love, whereof my boyhood was the dream,My youth the beautiful novitiate,Life was so slight a thing and thou so great,How could I make thee less than all-supreme!In thy sweet transports not alone I thoughtMingled the twain that panted breast to breast.The sun and stars throbbed with them; they were caughtInto the pulse of Nature and possessedBy the same light that consecrates it so.Love!—’tis the payment of the debt we oweThe beauty of the world, and whensoe’erIn silks and perfume and unloosened hairThe loveliness of lovers, face to face,Lies folded in the adorable embrace,Doubt not as of a perfect sacrificeThat soul partakes whose inspiration fillsThe springtime and the depth of summer skies,The rainbow and the clouds behind the hills,That excellence in earth and air and seaThat makes things as they are the real divinity.