Chapter XIV

“_Quare, dum licet, internos laetemur amantes;
Non satis est ullo tempore longus amor._”
PROPERTIUS

Your love has clothed me with a garment fair
That covers up all soil and smirch and sin,
From folded feet folds whitely to the chin
And hallows me as those the saints do wear.
O, trust me—I will keep it spotless, fair,
For this, your gracious gift, my dreams shall win
A purity serene, no more therein
May creep a false thought ever anywhere.

Yet underneath this love-robe—gift of thine—
I know that you’d not sinned this sin of mine
Nor broken sacred vows as I have done;
Yet judge me not too harshly, Dear, Dear One,
Than mortal women I have been most lone,
The heart must have a home! Let that atone.