Poem February 5, 1927 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Love

WILLIAM W. PORTER

Not by feature, stature, nor by garb,
May we know Love: things shapen
Or defined by mortals' sense,
Have not the substance of divinity.

Unheralded Love comes—
Save she is herald of herself,
As dawn the song of breaking day becomes,
Then veils itself in modesty.

And thus we may know Love
By the quiet of her coming,

By the healing peace she brings.

Where leadeth Love—
There go the wise, the diligent, the good.

When shadows fall athwart the way—
When flesh is wearied with the harsh
routine of flesh,
Love lifeth us above the weariness,
And sets our feet in paths where they
unwearied run.

The pure in heart are hers.
She causeth them,
Like lighted candles,
In the windows of the world to shine.
For Love,
Untrammeled by a leash of sordid sense,
Is the divinity of man.

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