Would God that I might build my love in stone
That would out-time the centuries and dare
Despiteful death to lay his finger there,
So that your fame to all men might be known;
A minister church, crowned with a soaring spire,
Great buttressed walls, clerestory, lofty nave,
Deep carven doors and every window brave
With sunset hues. In chantry, transept, choir,
So great a peace men needs must kneel to pray.
Then I would have them, each to other say,
“One loved her true love well and worthily
And built this minister to his memory,
God rest their souls”—so all should know the story,
Your fame, beloved, and God’s greater glory.