| ADVERSITY Debris in the wind Indiscriminately blinds Eyes searching a path. To turn one�s back to the wind Reveals but where one has been. --------------- PSYCHE WITH A CANDLE Love which is the most difficult mystery, Asking from every young one answers, And most from those most eager and most beautiful- Love is a bird in a fist: To hold it hides it, to look at it lets it go. It will twist loose if you lift so much as a finger. It will stay if you cover it - stay but unknown and invisible. Either you keep it forever with fist closed, Or let it fling, Singing in fervor of sun and in song vanish. There is no answer other to this mystery. ----------------- EROSION It took the sea a thousand years, A thousand years to trace the granite features of this cliff, In crag and scarp and base. It took the sea an hour one night, An hour of storm to place, The sculpture of these granite seams Upon a woman�s face. ------------------ Just a thought of sweet remembrance Just a memory sad and true, Just the love and sweet devotion Of one who thinks of you. --------------------- During all ages, The next we see, As unreal images Which will never be. For when we arrive, We will be different So as to survive The fearful ascent. But as into an age we arrive, We feel nothing but afraid, As we must now survive, Without new tools for aid. No matter how steep, We keep climbing on, As the fear is not so deep, As the call to the horizon. When we reach the top, we see, That from far away we came, And that we never did foresee That we would be the same. ---------------------------- I thought no more was needed, Youth to prolong, Than a dumb-bell and a fork To keep the body young. O who would have foretold That the heart grows old? -------------------- DEATH Because I could not stop for Death- He kindly stopped for me- The Carriage held but Ourselves- And Immortality. ------------------ TEMPERANCE And when life�s sweet fable ends, Soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; A kiss, a sigh, and so away. ------------------ The moving finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it. |
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