Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.

“A guest,” I answered “worthy to be here”;
Love said “You shall be he.”
“I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.”
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply
“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.”
“And know you not,” says Love “who bore the blame?”
“My dear, then I will serve.”
“You must sit down,” says Love “and ******* meat.”
So I did sit and eat.

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of ***,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
   Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
   Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
   The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
   And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
   When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
   Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
   And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
   You may forever tarry.

Love is a thing most wretched vile,
hear me now for what I say is true.
A shattered soul, an empty smile
is all that will remain of you.

If Love should be when the birds would sing,
then a crow I must be.
If Love doth joy from the heart forth-bring
then mine is but a lonesome cavity.

If one should drink from that poisoned spring
to prove absurdity,
then one will cling to suffering
for neigh eternity.

Yet know this about Love's bittersweet breath:
If it is pure, it will outlast even death.

The cold is all I've ever known.
My lonely heart is made of frost.
Never has it beaten yet,
not once has it been lost.

The heavy clouds that fills the sky
delivers ice and snow,
and every day I fiercely pray
for winds of spring to blow.

My brittle bones are aching,
longing for her touch.
A smile warmer than the sun
and eyes that shine as such.

She'll set my heart ablaze with love.
She'll kiss me on the lips
and through my body heat will spread
from toes to fingertips.

We stare into each others' eyes,
naked to the bone.
Still fully dressed, though, we know now
we'll never be alone.

Forever will I love her,
my summer buttercup,
and all she has to do
is simply showing up.