Chapter XIV

If fate has saved us from commonplace errors and
from vile untruth and from sorry shams, it is
because all constraint that might have bowed our
double fervour revolted us.

You went your way, free and frank and bright,
mingling with the flowers of love the flowers of
your will, and gently lifting up towards yourself
its lofty spirit when my brow was bent towards
fear or doubt.

And you were always kind and artless in your
acts, knowing that my heart was for ever yours;
for if I loved--do I now know?--some other woman,
it is to your heart that I always returned.

Your eyes were then so pure in their tears that
my being was stirred to sincerity and truth; and
I repeated to you holy and gentle words, and your
weapons were sadness and forgiveness.

And in the evening I lulled my head to sleep on
your bright bosom, happy at having returned from
false and dim distances to the fragrant spring
that bore sway in us, and I remained a captive in
your open arms.