A graciousness in giving that doth make
The small'st gift greatest, and a sense most meek
Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take
From others, but which always fears to speak
Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake;--
The deep religion of a thankful heart, 40
Which rests instinctively in Heaven's clear law
With a full peace, that never can depart
From its own steadfastness;--a holy awe
For holy things,--not those which men call holy,
But such as are revealèd to the eyes
Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly
Before the face of daily mysteries;--
A love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly
To the full goldenness of fruitful prime,
Enduring with a firmness that defies 50
All shallow tricks of circumstance and time,
By a sure insight knowing where to cling,
And where it clingeth never withering;--
These are Irené's dowry, which no fate
Can shake from their serene, deep-builded state.

In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth
No less than loveth, scorning to be bound
With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth
To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound,
If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes, 60
Giving itself a pang for others' sakes;
No want of faith, that chills with sidelong eye,