And flashes in quick eye and limb and tongue,
Which, counting dross for gold, is rich in dreaming,
And, reckoning moons as suns, is never cold,
And, having naught, has everything in seeming,—
If age could do all this—age were not old!
THE SOUL’S CLIMATE
“Every soul has a climate of its own, or rather is a climate.”—Henri Amiel.
O HEART beloved, O kindest heart!