I do not cry, beloved, neither curse. 
 Silence and strength, these two at least are good. 
 He gave me sun and start and aught He could, 
But not a woman's love; for that is hers. 

He sealed her heart from sage and questioner -- 
 Yea, with seven seals, as he has sealed the grave. 
 And if she give it to a drunken slave, 
The Day of Judgment shall not challenge her. 

Only this much: if one, deserving well, 
 Touching your thin young hands and making suit, 
 Feel not himself a crawling thing, a brute, 
Buried and bricked in a forgotten hell; 

Prophet and poet be he over sod, 
 Prince among angels in the highest place, 
 God help me, I will smite him on the face, 
Before the glory of the face of God.