CAMILLE.
I bore my mystic chalice unto earth,
With vintage which no lips of hers might name:
Only in token of its alien birth,
Love crowned it with his soft, immortal flame;
And 'mid the world's wide sound,
Sacred reserves and -silences breathed round
A spell, to keep it pure from low acclaim.
With vintage which no lips of hers might name:
Only in token of its alien birth,
Love crowned it with his soft, immortal flame;
And 'mid the world's wide sound,
Sacred reserves and -silences breathed round
A spell, to keep it pure from low acclaim.
With joy that dulled-me to the touch of scorn,
I served: not knowing that of all life's deeds,
Service was first—nor that high powers are born
I served: not knowing that of all life's deeds,
Service was first—nor that high powers are born
