A BoyOut of the noise of tired people working,Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead,His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing,Clean boyish beauty and high-held head.Eyes that told secrets, lips that would not tell them,Fearless and shy the young unwearied eyes--Men die by millions now, because God blunders,Yet to have made this boy he must be wise.

It will not hurt me when I am old,A running tide where moonlight burnedWill not sting me like silver snakes;The years will make me sad and cold,It is the happy heart the breaks.The hearts asks more than life can give,When that is learned, then all is learned;The waves break fold on jewelled fold,But beauty itself is fugitive,It will not hurt me when I am old.

Beauty, more than bitterness, makes the heart break.

Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.

Spend all you have for loveliness.