yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed

and worthy of acceptation. fire is bright,

let temple burn, or flax; an equal light

leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:

and love is fire. and when i say at need

i love thee . . . mark! . . . i love thee—in thy sight

i stand transfigured, glorified aright,

with conscience of the new rays that proceed

out of my face toward thine. there’s nothing low

in love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures

who love god, god accepts while loving so.

and what i feel, across the inferior features

of what i am, doth flash itself, and show

how that great work of love enhances nature’s.