Art Is Much, But Love Is More.

Enough! We're Tired, My Heart And I. We Sit Beside The Headstone Thus, And Wish That Name Were Carved For Us. The Moss Reprints More Tenderly The Hard Types Of The Mason's Knife, As Heaven's Sweet Life Renews Earth's Life With Which We're Tired, My Heart And I .... In This Abundant Earth No Doubt Is Little Room For Things Worn Out: Disdain Them, Break Them, Throw Them By! And If Before The Days Grew Rough We Once Were Loved, Used, - Well Enough, I Think, We've Fared, My Heart And I.

Life Treads On Life, And Heart On Heart; We Press Too Close In Church And Mart To Keep A Dream Or Grave Apart.

I Would Not Be A Rose Upon The Wall A Queen Might Stop At, Near The Palace-door, To Say To A Courtier, "pluck That Rose For Me, It's Prettier Than The Rest." O Romney Leigh! I'd Rather Far Be Trodden By His Foot, Than Lie In A Great Queen's Bosom.

I, Who Thought To Sink, Was Caught Up Into Love, And Taught The Whole Of Life In A New Rhythm.

Unless You Can Muse In A Crowd All Day On The Absent Face That Fixed You; Unless You Can Love, As The Angels May, With The Breadth Of Heaven Betwixt You; Unless You Can Dream That His Faith Is Fast, Through Behoving And Unbehoving; Unless You Can Die When The Dream Is Past — Oh, Never Call It Loving!