Chapter XLIV

O Love, the Realm of Dreams
Is thine; they come, unsought:
With fiery Weapons, throng'd,
As if whole Armies fought.
The Standard of thy Rule,
Hot Hearts bear in the Van;
It flames till Worlds, o'ercome,
Beneath thy Sway are brought.
Thou, ever and again,
Sendst out a Phantom Form;
Till cower weak, trembling Souls,
Like Children terror-wrought.
But when a Soul resigns,
Thou, Victor, marchest in:
A Conqueror—lovelier far
Than ever Soul had thought.

The Cry of Love