When I Can Make Of Ten Small

Time Can Make Soft That Iron Wood.

I Am Waylaid By Beauty.

We Were So Wholly One I Had Not Thought That We Could Die Apart. I Had Not Thought That I Could Move,—and You Be Stiff And Still! That I Could Speak,—and You Perforce Be Dumb! I Think Our Heart-strings Were, Like Warp And Woof In Some Firm Fabric, Woven In And Out; Your Golden Filaments In Fair Design Across My Duller Fibre.

Ah, Drink Again This River That Is The Taker-away Of Pain, And The Giver-back Of Beauty! In These Cool Waves What Can Be Lost?-- Only The Sorry Cost Of The Lovely Thing, Ah, Never The Thing Itself! The Level Flood That Laves The Hot Brow And The Stiff Shoulder Is At Our Temples Now. Gone Is The Fever, But Not Into The River; Melted The Frozen Pride, But The Tranquil Tide Runs Never The Warmer For This, Never The Colder. Immerse The Dream. Drench The Kiss. Dip The Song In The Stream.

Life Must Go On; I Forget Just Why.