I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.
Oh who can tell the range of joy or set the bounds of beauty?
Until I lose my soul and lie Blind to the beauty of the earth, Deaf though shouting wind goes by, Dumb in a storm of mirth; Until my heart is quenched at length And I have left the land of men, Oh, let me love with all my strength Careless if I am loved again.
Spend all you have for loveliness.
I could not be so sure of Spring / Save that it sings in me.
Oh to be free of myself, With nothing left to remember, To have my heart as bare As a tree in December; Resting, as a tree rests After its leaves are gone, Waiting no more for a rain at night Nor for the red at dawn.