High-spirited, and passing courtly dame,
At heart the Lady Gwendolaine was still
A hungry child who craved love's nourishing,
Unconscious of her hunger; so she had clung,--
In spite of shocks, repeated time on time,--
Close to the thought of Torm, remembering all
He was to her in wooing her; rehearsed--
As children count their pennies one by one
Day after day to prove their wealth--each good
And sign of promise in his nature generous,
Until her buoyant heart, quick to react,
Had warmed itself, and kept itself alive,
By its own warmth and fire of earnest zeal.
And as men, lost in a morass, feed fast
On berries, lest they starve, and call it food,
Thus, with shut eyes, had Gwendolaine, till now,
Fed on affection and chance tenderness,
And called it by the great and awful name
Of Love, not knowing what love meant. But swift
As light floods darkened chamber, when one flings
The window wide, so her unconscious soul
Was flooded with the strange incoming thought--
In that eternal moment--of true love,
Love as a vital force within the soul,
A strength, a power, an illuming light.
And Sanpeur loved her! O immortal crown.
She was not conscious of her love for him,
Her love for his love was enough for her.

Then she awoke to joy; all things became