The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.
I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not reach
When all is summer there.
If so men's memories not a monument be,
None shalt thou have. Warm hearts, and not cold stone,
Must mark thy grave, or thou shalt lie, unknown.
Marbles keep not themselves; how then, keep thee?
The wind is awake, pretty leave, pretty leaves, Heed not what he says, he deceives, he deceives; Over and over To the lowly clover He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too). He will be lisping and pledging to you.
Holding occasion by the hand, Not over nice 'twixt weed and flower, Waiving what none can understand, I make mine hour.
I pour into the world the eternal streams Wan prophets tent beside, and dream their dreams.
A breath, whence no man knows, Swaying the grating weeds, it blows; It comes, it grieves, it goes. Once it rocked the summer rose.
The message from the hedge-leaves, Heed it, whoso thou art; Under lowly eaves Lives the happy heart.
The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. [So when you are crying remember also to anticipate and look for the rainbow.]
The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet, And left to Heaven the rest.
No command of art,
No toil, can help you hear;
Earth's minstrelsy falls clear
But on the listening heart.
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