Sonnet Ccliii: Poem by George Henry Boker

Falsehood to thee would be the blackest crime
My conscience frowns at; and 'twere falsehood sure
To thee, whose soul I rate as heavenly pure,
To risk my dove within the fowler's lime.
Such love as ours is censured by the time
As gross defcct, and cannot live secure
Before a world whose justice will endure
The harshest mockery of the marriage chime.
With heart unsullied and with upturned brow,
Beneath the mercy of our God we stand,
Bound by a love whose strength disdains a vow.
If man's decree be backed by God's command,
I reason darkly; let us therefore bow--
O, not in fear--thus trustful, hand in hand.