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<br/>
<h2> THE SHRINE </h2>
<p>Were I but as the master souls who move<br/>
In their high place, immortal on the earth,<br/>
My song might be a thing to crown her worth,—<br/>
‘Tis but a pathway for the feet of Love.<br/>
<br/>
But since she walks where I am fain to sing,<br/>
Since she has said, “I listen, O my friend!”<br/>
There is a glory lent the song I send,<br/>
And I am proud, yes, prouder than a king.<br/>
<br/>
I grow to nobler use beneath her eyes—<br/>
Eyes that smile on me so serenely, will<br/>
They smile a welcome though my best hope dies,<br/>
<br/>
And greet me at the summit of the hill?<br/>
Will she, for whom my heart has built a shrine,<br/>
Take from me all that makes this world divine?<br/></p>
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