III

Are we not happy? though this bond of ours

Be strange and out of harmony with life

As men accept it, in this world of strife

Between the spirit and the flesh?— Dark hours

Are in the doom of every love; no flowers

Bloom rainless; wind and war and pain are rife

Within us all.— Yet we are happy. Wife

Or sister, these are earth-words; the soul showers

Its gifts of love and seeks no earthly bond.

So ask we none but, smiling, soul to soul

Stand gathered in Love's very essence, whole

And indivisible. These white strong bands

Suffice;‘ tis but the shell, too frail and fond,

That weeps, alas! and wrings her mortal hands.