Thou blessed another with love's sweet decree,And mastered it—despite my jealousy;
Love is a secret, veiled from every eye,Its curtains drawn to hide what lies thereby;
I raised the veil—and marvelled at the sight,Beheld what words could never bring to light;
How many tyrants love hath made to standAs statues of their weakness, weak and bland;
Youth gathered in its arena, bold and free,Roaming in revelry and mockery;
Yet in its garden, purity finds cure,Its wounds are healed, its suffering made secure.