And wind may blow, and man may screen himself;
And rain may fall, and he may shelter find;
And frost may chill, and he may clothing wear;
But what can ward off sun-stroke?—Love,
Its first degree may bring fertility;
Its next one barrenness. It lights; it blights.
The flames of heaven, flash’d far and spent, turn smoke
To glut the gloom of hell.
Words kind as these
(We could have braced ourselves against them else)