I shall not let a sorrow die Until I find the heart of it, Nor let a wordless joy go by Until it talks with me a bit; And the ache my body knows Shall teach me more than to another, I shall look deep at mire and rose Until each one becomes my brother. Of my spirit and my flesh I shall net myself a mesh, Drawing the web both close and fine To snare all things therein, until They yield their secret to my will; And if a proud high heart is mine, Good luck and ill luck both will be Equal servitors to me. |