Love's Selfishness

And have I no more share in thee, O sweet,
Than any of the other men who gaze
Well pleased upon the beauty of that face,
Whose eyes are glad, indeed, thine eyes to meet? —
I, who have laid my soul beneath thy feet;
I, who upon the ruin of my days
To thee an everlasting shrine will raise,
That men in coming years with song shall greet;

I, even I, whose pride it is to bear
The cross which thou hast laid upon me, love;
Who give thee bitter songs, as men give prayer
To high and unknown gods, whom no prayers move, —
I, who must long for thee through my life's night,
More than the blind man ever longed for light.