Who knows most, doubts most; entertaining hope means recognizing fear.

Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!

In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now.

Death: the grand perhaps.

What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened the next tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss . . .

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.