There is a virtue loftier than the rules
By which belief squares what it would digest,
There is a process which the subtler schools
Believe too simple for their high bequest;
A goddess hovers o’er this giddy earth,
Her snowy breasts are budding to the air,
Her sad smile ’s conquered peace yet shrinks from mirth,
Reclines she, and her arms invite, her hair,
Sole garment of her loveliness, conformed
To the semblance of a golden lap, the shrine
And cradle of all promise; here are formed
All creeds of holiness, beauty, divine
Truth, and immortal strivings unfulfilled,
And through the whole rich charity’s distilled.