Maria (White) Lowell (1821–1853)

I LOVE thee—not because thy love for me,

Like a great sunrise, did o’ervault my day

With purple light, and wrought upon my way

The morning dew in fresh emblazonry;

Nor that thou seest all I fain would be

And thus dost call me by mine angel’s name,

While still my woman’s heart beats free of blame

Beneath the shelter of thy charity.

Oh! no, for wearily upon my soul

Would weigh thy golden crown of unbought praise,

Did I not look beyond the hour’s control,

To where those fruits of perfect virtue raise

Their bloom, that thou ere-while with prophet eyes

Didst name mine own, in groves of paradise.