Take love when love is given, But never think to find it A sure escape from sorrow Or a complete repose.
My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain.
It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.
It is enough for me by day To walk the same bright earth with him; Enough that over us by night The same great roof of stars is dim. I do not hope to bind the wind Or set a fetter on the sea -- It is enough to feel his love Blow by like music over me.
Wisdom is not acquired save as the result of investigation.
Of my own spirit let me be in sole though feeble mastery.