THE TWO LOVES

Smoothing soft the nestling head

Of a maiden fancy-led,

Thus a grave-eyed woman said:

“Richest gifts are those we make,

Dearer than the love we take

That we give for love's own sake.

“Well I know the heart's unrest;

Mine has been the common quest,

To be loved and therefore blest.

“Favors undeserved were mine;

At my feet as on a shrine

Love has laid its gifts divine.

“Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet

With their sweetness came regret,

And a sense of unpaid debt.

“Heart of mine unsatisfied,

Was it vanity or pride

That a deeper joy denied?

“Hands that ope but to receive

Empty close; they only live

Richly who can richly give.

“Still,” she sighed, with moistening eyes,

“Love is sweet in any guise;

But its best is sacrifice!

“He who, giving, does not crave

Likest is to Him who gave

Life itself the loved to save.

“Love, that self-forgetful gives,

Sows surprise of ripened sheaves,

Late or soon its own receives.”