When he has elaborated this second excursion of thought he comes at last to the girl.

Then is the hour of passion, but even in its fervour he draws a conclusion, belonging to a higher world than youthful love, as remote from it as his description of the scenery and the ruins.

"Splendour of arms, triumph of wealth, centuries of glory and pride, they are nothing to love.

Love is best." It is a general, not a particular conclusion.

In a true Love-poem it would be particular.
Another poem of waiting love is _In Three Days_.