The Ending of Love's Quest
For thee I have achieved hard things and dread.—I know it.
But what were heart of man, and, least of all, of poet,
If this he could not do?
The impossible to love is possible, and easy.
The God who first began his flower-work by the daisy
Conceived at last his rose of fieriest hue.
So I who first began my love-work by soft singing
Of love that passed away, now send a strong song ringing
Along the fields of air.
I who have sung of charm of meadow-sweet and daisy
And stooped to gather buds in morning's uplands hazy
Halt now at thee,—and nothing else is fair.
But what were heart of man, and, least of all, of poet,
If this he could not do?
The impossible to love is possible, and easy.
The God who first began his flower-work by the daisy
Conceived at last his rose of fieriest hue.
So I who first began my love-work by soft singing
Of love that passed away, now send a strong song ringing
Along the fields of air.
I who have sung of charm of meadow-sweet and daisy
And stooped to gather buds in morning's uplands hazy
Halt now at thee,—and nothing else is fair.
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