Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

Not for myself I make this prayer, But for this race of mine That stretches forth from shadowed places Dark hands for bread and wine.

We shall not always plant while others reap

Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

All day long and all night through, One thing only must I do: Quench my pride and cool my blood, Lest I perish in the flood.

We were not made to eternally weep.

Whatever lives is granted breath But by the grace and sufferance of Death.