The world its cradle, and the loving home
Its grave.
Weave sorrow on the loom of love
And warp the loom with faith.
Such fragments, however, were but steps leading to larger things. A little later on this came:
So thou hast trod among the tansey tuft
And murr and thyme, and gathered all the garden’s store,
And glutted on the lillie’s sensuous sweet,
And let thy shade to mar the sunny path,
And only paused to strike the slender humming bird,