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Edith Nesbit - By Faith With Thanksgiving
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LOVE is no bird that nests and flies, 
No rose that buds and blooms and dies, 
No star that shines and disappears, 
No fire whose ashes strew the years: 
Love is the god who lights the star, 
    Makes music of the lark`s desire, 
Love tells the rose what perfumes are, 
    And lights and feeds the deathless fire. 


Love is no joy that dies apace 
With the delight of dear embrace-- 
Love is no feast of wine and bread, 
Red-vintaged and gold-harvested: 
Love is the god whose touch divine 
    On hands that clung and lips that kissed, 
Has turned life`s common bread and wine 
    Into the Holy Eucharist.
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