Chapter XXVII

The gift of body, when the soul is given,
Is naught but harmony
Of two tendernesses driven
One to the other, fervidly.
Glory in thyself thou findest sweet.
So fair in thy fresh purity,
Only to offer me
The wondrous gift complete.
I come to thee, and know
Exaltation in this gift of thine;
Always the truer, the more pure I grow
Since thy dear body gave itself to mine.
Love! oh, may it overflow
Our hearts and be the reason in our lives,
Whose maddest happiness is one that strives
Toward the madness of a trust divine.