There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.
The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you.
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
There's nothing half so real in life as the things you've done... inexorably, unalterably done.
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.
Love said, "Wake still and think of me," Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day," But Dreams came by and smilingly Gave both to Love and Sleep their way.