Love is like life-merely longer.
The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
I tasted life.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.
Life is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it.