O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.
I have loved badly, loved the great Too soon, withdrawn my words too late; And eaten in an echoing hall Alone and from a chipped plate The words that I withdrew too late.
Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.