Christmas Hath A Beauty ...

Hope Dead Lives Nevermore, No, Not In Heaven.

Consider The Lilies Of The Field Whose Bloom Is Brief:-- We Are As They; Like Them We Fade Away As Doth A Leaf.

To Her Whose Heart Is My Heart's Quiet Home, To My First Love, My Mother, On Whose Knee I Learnt Love-lore That Is Not Troublesome.

Let Bygones Be Bygones.

For I Am Bound With Fleshly Bands, Joy, Beauty, Lie Beyond My Scope; I Strain My Heart, I Stretch My Hands, And Catch At Hope.