Whatever dire disasters there are due
My soul, and in what labyrinths betrayed;
However pleasures, with their ormolu
Of splendors and their mantles of brocade
Beguile me to a far forgetfulness
Of all I have put faith in hitherto;
Yet, being conscious of the light no less,
Though in pursuit of passions I must rue,—

I am redeemed: since always it is you
I seek through every fog and wilderness
Of flesh and spirit. Loving you as I do
I mind not how the world my deeds assess:
Weighed in their balances of false and true,
All earthly values are an emptiness.