My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain.

Now at last I have come to see what life is, Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun, And the brave victories that seem so splendid Are never really won.

Take love when love is given, But never think to find it A sure escape from sorrow Or a complete repose.

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.

It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.

What we have never had, remains; It is the things we have that go.

Love in my heart is a cry forever Lost as the swallow's flight, Seeking for you and never, never Stilled by the stars at night