Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.
Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,โbeen happy.
The great mind knows the power of gentleness.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
For life, with all its yields of joy and woe Is just a chance o' the prize of learning love.