CCLV

If it be sin, as rigid men aver,
To love, as we have loved, above the law
That sanctions living, there's a grievous flaw
Within my soul that no remorse can stir.
Nor, sworn to judge, can I impute to her
That foul transgression which I never saw
Purple her cheeks--those wandering thoughts which thaw,
In their own heat, the senses prone to err.
Virgin at heart, her soft-descending kiss
Leaves on my brow a benediction light,
That makes me purer to my inward sight.
Each deed is sacrificial; ay, and this,
Love's utmost favor and consummate bliss,
Yielded by her, becomes a sacred rite.