Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these. She a window flower. And he a winter breeze.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart.

It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower.

The sweet of bitter barkAnd burning clove.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.