The Secret Splendour

Heloise

(After a passage in one of her letters)

Holier is the wife's name—

But, O my love, to the core

Of my heart would I truer be

As thy worthless whore,

Fallen at thy feet, with no hands to lay

On the torch of thy fame!

I would lie most low

To feel like a flame

The height my heart-throbs know

Of thy beauty and brain.

What tribute could I pay

Deeper than harlotry

Smiling at sneers as vain

 If Abelard be my stain?

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