I Happy who saith: Enough. Soft is Aurora's touch that breaks his slumber; His clasped hands never prayed For life, ne'er roamed his shade; He lives with time, nor are the sands that number His golden minutes rough. II How bountiful is Love! When hope is fled, he comes with wings of blessing: His pleasure is to give His all, and poor to live; But he grows rich, the treasure twice possessing Himself he robbeth of. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 91 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT by JONATHAN SWIFT TO THE QUEEN by ALFRED TENNYSON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 4. THE TIMOROUS ADVENTURER by PHILIP AYRES |