I'm sorry for the anguished hearts that break with passion's strain, But I'm sorrier for the poor starved souls that never knew love's pain, Who hunger on through barren years not tasting joys they crave, For sadder far is such a lot than weeping o'er a grave.

And he who has dwelt with his heart alone, Hears all the music in friendship's tone. So better and better I comprehend How sorrow ever would be our friend.

Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial-place. He is dead, dear, as you see, And he wearies you and me.

There is no language that love does not speak.

Be careful what rubbish you toss in the tide. On outgoing billows it drifts from your sight, But back on the incoming waves it may ride And land at your threshold again before night. Be careful what rubbish you toss in the tide.

The splendid discontent of God With chaos made the world. And from the discontent of man The worlds best progress springs.

One ship drives east and other drives west by the same winds that blow. It's the set of the sails and not the gales that determines the way they go.