Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.

In this abundant earth no doubt Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by! And if before the days grew rough We once were lov'd, us'd -- well enough, I think, we've far'd, my heart and I.

The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.

God Himself is the best Poet, And the Real is His song.

I work with patience, which is almost power.