Wrapt echo, listening, half forgot; and o'er
And o'er, as joyous birds unprisoned soar,
The free notes rose. And in the silence wide,
Across the seas, across the night, I cried:
O sinless soul, whose clear voice blithely rings
'Gainst the blue verge of stars! 'Tis Lilith sings
The happy song of love. O Love! the tint
Of light divine thou wearest. Thou hast no hint
Of storm or turmoil, or of Sin's rough ways,
Whose feet to heaven climb, through darkest maze.
Ah, Lilith, sure the love that basely weighs,
That stoops to count its gifts, and hoarding, says,
'Such and so many, these indeed are mine;
I hold my treasure dear, nor covet thine;'
This is not love; 'tis Thrift in borrowed dress,
Deceiving thee. Love giveth free largess
With open hand, clean as the whitest day;
Yea, that it gave, forgetteth it straightway.
Beyond these walls dwells bliss that lives not here?
When thou hast bartered peace, outshining clear