Responding, I "Fix your own place, my love; it is your right, 'Tis well to have a theory, and sit In the centre of it, mistress of its law, And subject also;--to set men up here And women there, in a fine equipoise Of gift and grace and import. It conveys To nicely-working minds a pleasant sense Of order, like a well-appointed room, Where one may see, in various stuffs and wares, Forethoughts of color brought to harmony; Strict balancings of quantity and form; Flowers in the centre, and, beside the grate, A rack for shovel and tongs. But minds like these (Your pardon, love!) are likely to arrange The window-lights to save the furniture, And spoil the pictures on the wall. And you, In the adjustment of your theory, Would shut the light from her whose mind informs Its harmonies. All worship, in my thought, Goes hand in hand with love. We cannot love, And fail to worship what we love. While you Worship the strength and courage which you find In him who has your heart, he bows to all Of faith and sweetness which he finds in you. If, in our worship, we have need to build Noblest ideals, taking much from God With which to make them perfect in our eyes, Shall God mark blame? We worship him the while, In attributes his own, or attributes With which our thought invests him. As for me-- It is no secret--I am what you call A godless man; yet what is worshipful, Or seems to be so, that with all my heart I worship; and I worship while I love. You deem yourself the dwelling-place of God, And keep your spirit cleanly for his feet. All merit you abjure, ascribing all To him who dwells within you. How can you Forbid that I fall down and worship you, When what I find to worship is not yours, But God's alone? I know the ecstasy Enlarges, strengthens, purifies my soul, And blesses me with peace. My love, my life, You are my all. I have no other good, And, in this moment of my happiness, I ask no other."