Classic Poem

Love laid his hands on my two hands
And straightway I was strong;
He held my eyes within his eyes
That they might see no wrong;
His kisses fell upon my lips
And left them filled with song.

The meanest task my hands may do
For Love's sake now is meet;
The meanest thing my eyes may see
Grows wondrous and complete;
And since my songs are all of him,
Love, must not they be sweet?