All Good Things Are Ours, Nor Soul

Silence 'tis Awe Decrees.

We Mortals Cross The Ocean Of This World Each In His Average Cabin Of A Life; The Bests Not Big, The Worst Yields Elbowroom.

And Let Them Pass, As They Will Too Soon, With The Bean-flowers' Boon, And The Blackbird's Tune, And May, And June!

Take Away Love And Our Earth Is A Tomb.

And Inasmuch As Feeling, The East's Gift, Is Quick And Transient,- Comes, And Lo! Is Gone, While Northern Thought Is Slow And Durable.