I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.

Time can make soft that iron wood.

I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.

I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.