SONNET

Lady, believe me ever at your feet,

When all the Venus in you you condense

Unto a gesture natural and sweet,

Full-filled with purity's white eloquence.

Your sentient arm so softly did incense

The love of beauty in my soul complete,

That I had given the dearest things of sense

For that your gesture natural and sweet.

Genius and beauty, and the things that mar

The love of life with Love's own purest glow,

Out of all thinking, all unconscious are;

And even you, sweet lady, may not know

How much that gesture was to me a star

Leading my bark upon a sea of woe.