The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.
The only enemy of innocence and beauty is time.
Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.