X

I know not how it is with you —

I love the first and last,

The whole field of the present view,

The whole flow of the past.

One tittle of the things that are,

Nor you should change nor I —

One pebble in our path — one star

In all our heaven of sky.

Our lives, and every day and hour,

One symphony appear:

One road, one garden — every flower

And every bramble dear.