To a Lady, of Her Lover

FAITHFUL the sun, yet cometh not always
To the same crest or curve of morning’s rim;
The loyal moon not equally repays,
This night and that, the light she takes from him;
New fields of space the star forever ranges,
Though constant-footed in our dome of sky,
And beauty lives intact through ceaseless changes,
Part in itself, part in the observer’s eye.
Then grieve not when thy lover’s heart is loath
To shape to-day’s by yesterday’s desires,
But craves new loveliness and virtue both.
So crave now oil the vestals’ holy fires:
And his, like theirs, are flames of constancy,
For all he asks is more and more of thee.