John Hall Wheelock

ALL my love for my sweet

I bared one day to her.

Carelessly she took it,

And like a conqueror

She bowed the neck of my soul

To fit it to her yoke,

And bridled the lips of Song—

Fear within me awoke!

But Love cried: “Swiftly, swiftly

Bear her along the road;

Beautiful is the goal

And Beauty is the goad.”