So Precious Life Is! Even

The Ring Of A False Coin Is Not More Recognizable Than That Of A Rhyme Setting Forth A False Sorrow.

What Is Lovely Never Dies, But Passes Into Other Loveliness, Star-dust, Or Sea-foam, Flower Or Winged Air.

Hebe's Here, May Is Here! The Air Is Fresh And Sunny; And The Miser-bees Are Busy Hoarding Golden Honey.

Though I Be Shut In Darkness, And Become Insentient Dust Blown Idly Here And There, I Count Oblivion A Scant Price To Pay For Having Once Had Held Against My Lip Life's Brimming Cup Of Hydromel And Rue--for Having Once Known Woman's Holy Love And A Child's Kiss, And For A Little Space Been Boon Companion To The Day And Night, Fed On The Odors Of The Summer Dawn, And Folded In The Beauty Of The Stars. Dear Lord, Though I Be Changed To Senseless Clay, And Serve The Potter As He Turns His Wheel, I Thank Thee For The Gracious Gift Of Tears!

O Liberty...! Is It Well To Leave The Gates Unguarded?