The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.

Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran .

Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.

She knows not loves that kissed her She knows not where. Art thou the ghost, my sister, White sister there, Am I the ghost, who knows? My hand, a fallen rose, Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.

On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.

Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal; Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night.

Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean.