Pure as the moonlight, sweet as midnight air,
Simple as the primrose, brave and just and fair,
Such is my wife. The more unworthy I
To kiss the little hand of her by whom I lie.

New words, true words, need I to make you see
The gallantry, the graciousness, that she has brought to me;
How humble and how haughty, how quick in thought and deed,
How loyally she comrades me in every time of need.

To-night she is not with me. I kiss her empty dress.
Here I kneel beside it, not ashamed to bless
Each dear bosom-fold of it that bears a breath of her,
Makes my heart a house of pain, and my eyes a blur.

Here I kneel beside it, humble now to pray
That God will send her back to me on the morrow day.

New words, true words, only such could praise
The blessèd, blessèd magic of her dear and dauntless ways.