To H.R.H. Princess Beatrice

Two Suns of Love make day of human life,

Which else with all its pains, and griefs, and deaths,

Were utter darkness—one, the Sun of dawn

That brightens thro' the Mother's tender eyes,

And warms the child's awakening world—and one

The later-rising Sun of spousal Love,

Which from her household orbit draws the child

To move in other spheres. The Mother weeps

At that white funeral of the single life,

Her maiden daughter's marriage; and her tears

Are half of pleasure, half of pain—the child

Is happy—even in leaving her! but Thou,

True daughter, whose all-faithful, filial eyes

Have seen the loneliness of earthly thrones,

Wilt neither quit the widow’d Crown, nor let

This later light of Love have risen in vain,

But moving thro’ the Mother’s home, between

The two that love thee, lead a summer life,

Sway’d by each Love, and swaying to each Love,

Like some conjectured planet in mid heaven

Between two suns, and drawing down from both

The light and genial warmth of double day.