Truer than anything I wished were true,

Our love has told itself like some great story,

And gravely I have listened as it grew,

Aware of legends and in glory.

But do you, too, see suddenly bright

An early of dear things we have done,

And feel your heart lifted to such a height,

That since you cannot soar, you want to run?

The heavy years will have no times nor powers

To drag singing love from faith and pride,

We wear such wings and armor for those hours.

This only has lightning blade to pierce,

This only hurts to think; lovers have died

whose lives were also beautiful fierce.