������������We shall not always plant while others reap

������������The golden increment of bursting fruit,

������������Not always countenance, abject and mute,

������������That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;

������������Not everlastingly while others sleep

������������Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,

������������Not always bend to some more subtle brute;

������������We were not made eternally to weep.

������������The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,

������������White stars is no less lovely being dark,

������������And there are buds that cannot bloom at all

������������In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;

������������So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,

�������������������������������������������������������������������And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

Last revision: June 23,2000