Love is patient and is kind. Love doesn’t envy. Love doesn’t brag, is not proud,
doesn’t behave itself inappropriately, doesn’t seek its own way, is not provoked,
takes no account of evil; doesn’t rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth;
bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
And at last I know my love for you is here,
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties, and pains.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow:
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
