WastedWings

Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

Give me hunger,   O you gods that sit and give   The world its orders.   Give me hunger, pain and want,   Shut me out with shame and failure From your doors of gold and fame,   Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger! But leave me a little love,   A voice to speak to me in the day end,   A hand to touch me in the dark room Breaking the long loneliness.   In the dusk of day-shapes   Blurring the sunset,   One little wandering, western star   Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow. Let me go to the window,   Watch there the day-shapes of dusk   And wait and know the coming   Of a little love.

Out from behind this bending rough-cut mask, These lights and shades, this drama of the whole, This common curtain of the face contain'd in me for me, in you         for you, in each for each, (Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears—O heaven! The passionate teeming plays this curtain hid!) This glaze of God's serenest purest sky, This film of Satan's seething pit, This heart's geography's map, this limitless small continent, this         soundless sea; Out from the convolutions of this globe, This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon, than Jupiter, Venus,         Mars, This condensation of the universe, (nay here th