Odelette

Had I but known the way of my love,

Seen in what paths my life must move,

Guessed what my thought

held unrevealed,

My life had ne're been linked to thine,

To these thy thoughts,

to these thy ways,

I ne'er had will'd with thine to blend

Such love as mine.

Shall we, then, give our beloved

Flowers set with thorns sharpened to tear?

Wantonly show streams that are bitter,

To them that thirst?

Shall we for spinning give to gentle hands

Fashioned for the weaving of joy,

The rugged hemp, the wool uncleansed,

Fitter for toilers?

Yet behold, on the path thou standest before me,

Where in my life the crossways meet.

The brook is at thy feet; here droops a rose,

her stem is danger-laden! Yet hast thou culled it!

Doth then the distaff borne by Fate

Be heavy with the burden of life's uncertain thread,

Yet canst thou smile thus enthroned,

Thus alone enthroned in my heart,

Thy hand clasping fearlessly mine?