When Love Is At Its Best, One

O Bees, Sweet Bees!" I Said; "that Nearest Field Is Shining White With Fragrant Immortelles Fly Swiftly There And Drain Those Honey Wells.

On The King's Gate The Moss Grew Gray;the King Came Not. They Called Him Deadand Made His Eldest Son One Dayslave In His Father's Stead.

Who Longest Waits Most Surely Wins.

But All Lost Things Are In The Angels' Keeping, Love; No Past Is Dead For Us, But Only Sleeping, Love; The Years Of Heaven With All Earth's Little Pain Make Good Together There We Can Begin Again, In Babyhood.

Still Lie The Sheltering Snows, Undimmed And White; And Reigns The Winter's Pregnant Silence Still; No Sign Of Spring, Save That The Catkins Fill, And Willow Stems Grow Daily Red And Bright. These Are Days When Ancients Held A Rite Of Expiation For The Old Year's Ill, And Prayer To Purify The New Year's Will.