Page:Troubadour.pdf/101

Rh

And what must love be in a heart All passion's fiery depths concealing, Which has in its minutest part More than another's whole of feeling.

And heart; love's morning sun On fitter altar never shone; Loving with all the snow-white truth, That is found but in early youth; Freshness of feeling as of flower, That lives not more than spring's first hour; And loving with that wild devotion, That deep and passionate emotion, With which the minstrel soul is thrown On all that it would make its own.