Take all of me. I know your little lies, Your light dishonor, gentle treacheries. I know, I lie in torment at your feet, Shadow to all your sun. Take me and go, Use my adoring to your honor, sweet, Strength for your weakness--it is better so.
The pale and misty particles of Time Hover about us; scarce our eyes can see Youth's far-off dream of what we were to be. Life's truth, which once we would redeem with rhyme, Has proved instead a world-worn pantomime. The running river of expediency Has drowned the hopes that Fortune held in fee-- Why fall upon the track so many climb?
Why strive to speak what all the earth has heard? Why labor at a work the ages plan?-- Life has been lived so oft--an outworn thing! Then hark! the time-sweet carol of a bird, New as a flower; and see--ah, shame to man! The endless aspiration of the Spring.
The full throat of the world is charged with song, Morning and twilight melt with ecstasy In the high heat of noon. Simply to be, Palpitant where the green spring forces throng, Eager for life, life unashamed and strong-- This is desire fulfilled. Exalted, free, The spirit gains her ether, scornfully Denies existence that is dark or wrong.
This is enough, to see the song begun Which shall be finished in some field afar. Laugh that the night may still contain a star, Nor idly moan your impotence of grace. Life is a song, lift up your care-free face Gladly and gratefully toward the sun.
He gives me happiness, as flowers depend On loyal sun and shower. I look to love To give me life. Why is it not enough? Divine contentment, stretching without end O'er happy meadows. He's my love, my friend, And peace is in the word. You--heart's despair-- Sweep like a tempest through my sunsweet air, Wail like a lost soul through my blossomed grove.
Tempest and calm, with him my heart might rest, Lulled by eternal spring. The dream is blest, Yet the wild grapes you crush make life divine. Out in the pathless dark, all yours, I go, Brave with the purple promise of the wine. You, you I love, because you bring me woe.
And if I came, ah, if I came again, And laid my hand on your forgetful heart, Where once it lay so warm, could the pulse start, Remembering Spring? Now, at the sound of rain, I do but turn a little in disdain To see the flowers renew their lovely part, Blooming afresh. For memory holds no smart, Love aches no more to know how it was slain.