This miracle of love is made by sense;
It sees and touches, breathes fair innocence,
And seeks no critic’s glory for its crown,
But joys in brightest smile and darkest frown.
Its makers are partakers in delight
Of all that’s rare in hearing and in sight.
The word half spoke, the hand’s half lift,
Bears thrills of expectation as a gift,
And all that’s good is magnified to great
In mind of him and her who watch, elate.
Then know, love is no miracle at all,
But Real keen-sifted through intensity,
Where in the heart calm closing thoughts do fall
And feeling rises right to sing, “I’m free!”