The world stands out on either side, No wider than the heart is wide.

And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, and present, and forevermore.

After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?

I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

Not poppy, nor mandrake, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou owest yesterday.

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.