If thou would love me, see not perfection;

Give no worship to goddess unreal.

She is only gilt-mirror’s reflection,

Love’s not life-breath in the sculpture’s ideal.

No, true love’s not blind, is not deceitful.

No mirage it treasures, but honest flesh.

It sees the beggar, strivings pitiful,

And the God-child, Creative Spirit’s best.

Love is a melding of two into one,

Sep’rate purposes combined in single soul,

Twined ‘gether, only by other undone.

Through shared joys, goals, and sorrows, Love will hold.

And at end, though dis’llusioned, stands this gage,

Clearsighted and true, yet uncowed by age.