This love, that dares not warm before its flame 
   Our yearning hands, or from its tempting tree 
Yield fruit we may consume, or let us claim 
   In Hymen's scroll of happy heraldry 
   The twining glyphs of perfect you and me -- 
May kindle social fires whence curls no blame, 
   Find gardens where no fruits forbidden be, 
And mottoes weave, unsullied by a shame. 

For, love, unmothered Childhood wanly waits 
   For such as you to cherish it to Youth: 
   Raw social soils untilled need Love's own verve 
That Peace a-flower may oust their weedy hates: 
   And where Distress would faint from wolfish sleuth 
   The perfect lovers' symbol is "We serve!"