God gives us love. Something to love/ He lends us; but, when love is grown/ To ripeness that on which it throve/ Falls off, and love is left alone.

Who loves not a false imagining, an unreal character in us; but looking through all the rubbish of our imperfections, loves in us the divine ideal of our natures - not the man that we are, but the angel that we may be.

For what are men better than sheep or goats/ That nourish a blind life within the brain,/ If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer/ Both for themselves and those who call them friend?/ For so the whole round earth is every way/ Bound by gold chains

Who loves not a false imagining, an unreal character in us; but looking through all the rubbish of our imperfections, loves in us the divine ideal of our natures - not the man that we are, but the angel that we may be.

O love, O fire! once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul through
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.