Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

That which we are, we are.

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!

To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and aimable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes man.

And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!