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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - To Manon, On His Fortune In Loving Her
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I DID not choose thee, dearest. It was Love
That made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were blind
As a rude shepherd`s who to some lone grove
His offering brings and cares not at what shrine
He bends his knee. The gifts alone were mine;
The rest was Love`s. He took me by the hand,
And fired the sacrifice, and poured the wine,
And spoke the words I might not understand.
  I was unwise in all but the dear chance
Which was my fortune, and the blind desire
Which led my foolish steps to Love`s abode,
And youth`s sublime unreason`d prescience
Which raised an altar and inscribed in fire
Its dedication To the Unknown God.
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