But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart.
In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, ‘Is it good, friend?’ ‘It is bitter — bitter,’ he answered, ‘But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart.
Mother, whose heart hung humble as a button the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind.
The voice of God whispers in the heart
That the soul pauses,
Making no noise,
And strives for these melodies,
Distant, sighing, like faintest breath,
And all the being is still to hear.
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