”_I number none but happy hours._”
For we remember still
The morning-hymn we heard: “Ye shall fulfill
Your destiny and joy,
Each in the other, both in that Italian boy
And he in you, like flowers in a hill.”
She said to me one day, where a hill renewed its flowers,
“How easy it would be to live and die
If we would only see the ultimate
Oneness of life, quicken