Be thy heart a well of love, my child, Flowing, and free, and sure; For a cistern of love, though undefiled, Keeps not the spirit pure.

As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note.

The sun's eye Is fierce at noon; Thou and I Will rest full soon. And new strength New work will meet; Till, at length, Long rest is sweet.

Thou goest thine, and I go mine— Many ways we wend; Many days, and many ways, Ending in one end.

Through the realms of the monarch Sun Creeps a world, whose course had begun, On a weary path with a weary pace, Before the Earth sprang forth on her race: But many a time the Earth had sped Around the path she still must tread, Ere the elder planet, on leaden wing, Once circled the court of the planet's king. There, in that lonely and distant

She went like a radiance through the dark wood, which was henceforth bright to me, from simply knowing that such a creature was in it.

Then first I knew the delight of being lowly; of saying to myself, "I am what I am, nothing more." "I have failed," I said, "I have lost myself—would it had been my shadow."

All mirrors are magic mirrors.

It sounded like a welcome already overshadowed with the coming farewell.