What was this love? Why only this, shame nature if you will: But since man's body is not man's alone, Nor woman's body wholly feminine, A biologic truth, our body's souls Are neither masculine nor feminine, But part and part; from whence our souls play forth Part masculine, part feminine--this woman Had that of body first which made her soul, Or made her soul play in its way, and I Had that of body which made soul of me Play in its way. Our music met, that's all, And harmonized. The flesh's explanation Is not important, nor to tell whence comes A love in the heart--the thing is love at last: Love which unites and comforts, glorifies, Enlarges spirit, woos to generous life, Invites to sacrifice, to service, clothes This poor dull earth with glory, makes the dawn An hour of high resolve, the night a hope For dawn for fuller life, the day a time For working out the soul in terms of love. This was my love for Elenor Murray--this Her love for me, I think. Her sacrifice In the war I traced to our love--all the good Her life set into being, into motion Has in it something of this love of ours. How good is God who gives us love, the lens Through which we see the beauty, hid from eyes That have no love, no lens. Then what are spirits? Effluvia material of our bodies? Or is the spirit all--the body nothing, Since every atom, particle of matter With its interstices of soul, divides Until there is no matter, only soul? But what is love but of the soul--what flesh Knows love but through the soul? May it not be As soul learns love through flesh, it may at last, Helped on its way by flesh, discard the flesh:-- As cured men leave their crutches--and go on Loving with spirits. For it seems to me I must find Elenor Murray as a spirit, Myself a spirit, love her as I loved her These years on earth, but with a clearer fire, Flame that is separate from fuel, burning Eternal through itself. And here a word: My love for Elenor Murray never had Other expression than the look of eyes, The spiritual thrill of listening to her voice, A hand clasp, kiss upon the lips at best, Better to find her soul, as Plato says. Too true I left LeRoy under a cloud, Because of love for Elenor Murray--yet Not lawless love, I write now to make clear What love was mine--and you must understand. But let me tell how life has dealt with me, Then judge my purpose, dream, the quality Of Elenor Murray judge, who in some way, Somehow has drawn me onward, upward too, I hope, as I have striven.