| Now must I these three praise— |
| Three women that have wrought |
| What joy is in my days: |
| One because
no thought, |
| Nor those unpassing cares, |
| No, not in these fifteen |
| Many-times-troubled years, |
| Could ever
come between |
| Mind and delighted mind; |
| And one because her hand |
| Had strength that could unbind |
| What none can understand, |
| What none can have and thrive, |
| Youth’s dreamy load, till she |
| So changed
me that I live |
| Labouring in ecstasy. |
| And what of her that took |
| All till my youth was gone |
| With scarce a
pitying look? |
| How could I praise that one? |
| When day begins to break |
| I count my good and bad, |
| Being
wakeful for her sake, |
| Remembering what she had, |
| What eagle look still shows, |
| While up from my heart’s
root |
| So great a sweetness flows |
| I shake from head to foot. |