What is the world compared to you,—
To having you, holding you, finding you true?
Is there a heart-gain half as sweet
As when you kneel at my feet
Loving me, telling me you are mine?
Is there a victory more divine
Than that I am loved,—and loved too well?
Dearest, the aims of those who dwell
In the empty world are so mean compared
With our Hope of loving,—of having shared
This long life together, and then to be
One in a timeless Eternity …