On His Fortune in Loving Her

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 long 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 unreasoned prescience 
Which raised an altar and inscribed in fire
Its dedication: “To the unknown god.”