Life, Struck Sharp On Death,

Suddenly, As Rare Things Will, It Vanished.

Yet Half The Beast Is The Great God Pan, To Laugh, As He Sits By The River, Making A Poet Out Of A Man. The True Gods Sigh For The Cost And The Pain-- For The Reed That Grows Never More Again As A Reed With The Reeds Of The River.

I Love Thee With The Passion Put To Use In My Old Griefs, And With My Childhood's Faith. I Love Thee With A Love I Seemed To Lose With My Lost Saints,-i Love Thee With The Breath, Smiles, Tears, Of All My Life!-and, If God Choose, I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.

But The Child's Sob Curses Deeper In The Silence Than The Strong Man In His Wrath!

It Is Difficult To Get Rid Of People When You Once Have Given Them Too Much Pleasure.