Earth's crammed with heaven...But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.

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 tenderlyThe hard types of the mason's knife,As Heaven's sweet life renews earth's lifeWith which we're tired, my heart and I ....In this abundant earth no doubtIs little room for things worn out:Disdain them, break them, throw them by!And if before the days grew roughWe once were loved, used, - well enough,I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.

Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brinkOf obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,Was caught up into love, and taught the wholeOf life in a new rhythm.

Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.

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.

Unless you can feel when the song is done No other is sweet in its rhythm; Unless you can feel when left by one That all men else go with him.

But I love you, sir: And when a woman says she loves a man, The man must hear her, though he love her not.

For none can express thee, though all should approve thee. I love thee so, Dear, that I only can love thee.