But Only Agony, And That Has Ending;

And In My Flower-beds, I Think, Smile The Carnation And The Pink.

These Laid The World Away; Poured Out The Red Sweet Wine Of Youth; Gave Up The Years To Be Of Work And Joy, And That Unhoped Serene, That Men Call Age; And Those Who Would Have Been, Their Sons, They Gave, Their Immortality.

Incredibly, Inordinately, Devastatingly, Immortally, Calamitously, Hearteningly, Adorably Beautiful.

I Have Been So Great A Lover: Filled My Days So Proudly With The Splendour Of Love's Praise, The Pain, The Calm, And The Astonishment, Desire Illimitable, And Silent Content, And All Dear Names Men Use, To Cheat Despair, For The Perplexed And Viewless Streams That Bear Our Hearts At Random Down The Dark Of Life.

A Kiss Makes The Heart Young Again And Wipes Out The Years.