I love the friendly faces of old Sorrows;
I have no secrets that they do not know.
They are so old, I think they have forgotten
What bitter words were spoken, long ago.

I hate the cold, stern faces of new Sorrows
Who stand and watch, and catch me all alone.
I should be braver if I could remember
How different the older ones have grown.

I

Gone, O gentle heart and true,
Friend of hopes foregone,
Hopes and hopeful days with you
Gone?

Days of old that shone
Saw what none shall see anew,
When we gazed thereon.

Soul as clear as sunlit dew,
Why so soon pass on,
Forth from all we loved and knew
Gone?

II

Because I love you more than all the world
I write of other things,
For how shall little words combine to tell
The wonder that love brings?

And yet if there be one frail song of mine
That finally endures,
By all the love my lips have never sung,
You know that it is yours.

Three charms I have to turn a dark world bright —
The thought of white ships sailing out to sea,
The moonlit mountains on a summer night,
And the remembrance of your love for me.

I have known beauty, I have walked with love
And I have held a child against my breast—
How then shall I fear pain or grief or death,
Being so blest?

There is no woman living that draws breath
So sad as I, though all things sadden her.
There is not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower
All day with all his whole soul toward the sun;
While in the sun's sight I make moan all day,
And all night on my sleepless maiden bed
Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee,
That thou or he would take me to the dead,
And know not what thing evil I have done
That life should lay such heavy hand on me.

Rather a song in my heart
With flashing wings,
Rather a jeweled dream
Than the wealth of kings.

Rather the pain of loving
Than all things sweet,
Rather the thought of you
Than the world at my feet.

I am not afraid of love that grows from a spark
To an all-consuming flame,
Though it wrap my life in a mantle of scarlet pain —
Though it blister my soul with shame.

But I am afraid of love that is born a flame
And slowly dies to a spark.
I am afraid of the bitter ashes of love —
Afraid of the dark!

Rain is going through deep ground to-night,
Your body is in the ground;
The air booms with one shadowy sound to-night,
One sound.

O beautiful tired eyes, O tranquil hands,
My proud pale father, see
Between you and the downpour how Love stands

I hate the man who o'er the wine-brimmed bowl
Sings ever of war and conquest; he delights
Me most who wit with lyric gifts unites,
And to love's charms divine gives up his soul.