In the short youth to come, I longed for love;
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love pure, untouched and virgin. Youth did come,
but love despised me. So, enamored of
God instead; I sought Him ‘til my autumn.
Now hoary, ne’er have I a maiden met
or a princess betrothed to have a night
of ardent love. (Woe! ‘Tis best to forget
my foolish heart’s vain hope for such delight.)
So, free from sin; naïve and innocent;
and unspoil’d by life and vice and their yeast;
I had cast aside youth’s prurient bent,
forsworn my heart’s lusts to be mine own priest!
To serve God and His Heaven, I have lost
my chance to love—‘tis not worth the great cost.
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."