Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.
Would you have your songs endure? Build on the human heart.
What joy is better than the news of friends?
Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.