Chapter 2 No.2

At the world's gate she stands,

Silent and very still;

And lone as that one star that lights

The delicate dusk of April nights.

Oh, let love bind her holy hands,

And fetter her from ill!

Her tumbled tresses cling

Adown her like a veil.

And cheeks and curls as sweetly chime

As verses with a rounding rhyme.

Surely there is not anything

So valiant and so frail.

In faith and without fear,

She brings to a rude throng,

At war with beauty and with truth,

The wonder of her blossomy youth.

And faith shall wither to a sneer,

And need shall silence song.