Of my own spirit let me be in sole though feeble mastery.
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
What we have never had, remains; It is the things we have that go.
Wisdom is not acquired save as the result of investigation.
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.
I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful when rain bends down the bough; And I shall be more silent and cold hearted than you are now.