Of Love immortal, vital and supreme,--
Kept by the grace of God all undefiled,--
Had dowered her with largess; what she gave,
Albeit not the utmost, was more worth
Than best had been from her starved soul before.

Sir Torm was helped in his self-given task--
To struggle with ill humours and with pride--
Far more by her new gentleness and grace
Than he had been by waywardness and scorn
And fitful fascination, as of old.
To help Torm was her life's new quest, and well
Did she essay to gain it.

When the tide
Of sorrow for Sanpeur would over-sweep
Her heart; and when, sometimes, Sir Torm would lapse
Into forgetfulness of his resolve,
Confronting her o'ercome with wine or wrath,
Low to herself she whispered Sanpeur's words,
"Life is the filling of a trust," and straight
Her soul grew strong again.

From year to year,
Beneath her planting and her fostering,
Torm's nature blossomed, and his manhood grew
More fine, more fruitful. Men, at last, could mark
In his whole bearing greater dignity;
And Constantine once gave him, for some feat,
A brilliant Order, with the meaning words,