KEY TO CLOSET .

There is a key.
There is a key to a closet that opens the drawer. And she keeps both so that neither money nor candy will go suddenly, Fancy, baby, new year. She keeps both so that neither money nor candy will go suddenly, Fancy baby New Year, fancy baby mine, fancy.

HAPPEN TO HAVE .

Who , harnessed in his mail of Self, demands
To be men's master and their sovran guide? —
Proclaims his place, and by sole right of pride
A candidate for love and reverence stands,
As if the power within his empty hands
Had fallen from the sky, with all beside,
So oft to longing and to toil denied,
That makes the leaders and the lords of lands?
He who would lead must first himself be led;
Who would be loved be capable of love
Beyond the utmost he receives; who claims
The rod of power must first have bowed his head,

I THOUGHT she was wayward — inconstant in part,
But thought not the weakness e'er reached to her heart;
'Twas a lightness of mood which but tempted a lover
The more the true way to that heart to discover.

What changeful seem'd there, was the play of the wave
Which veileth the depth of the firm ocean cave;
I cared not how fitful that light wave might flow,
I would dive for the pearl of affection below.

I won it, methought! and now welcome the strife,
The burthen, the toil, the worst struggles of life;

Thy thoughts are Heavenward! and thy heart, they say,
Which love, oh more than mortal, failed to move,
Now in its precious casket melts away,
And owns the impress of a Saviour's love!

Many, in days gone by, full many a prayer,
Pure, though impassion'd, has been breathed for thee
By one who once thy hallow'd name would dare
Prefer with his to the Divinity.

Requite them now — not with an earthly love —
But since with that his lot thou mayst not bless,
Ask — what he dare not pray for from above —
For him the mercy of Forgetfulness.

He goes along
in his thin flesh,
narrow bones,
slow blood,
old hat,
old shoes,
singing for love, battling for love.
He will go down
in thinner flesh,
narrower bones,
slower blood,
older hat,
older shoes,
battling for love, dying for love.
He will be put away
in a thin box,
down a narrow slit
of the old earth,
growing for love, rising for love:
his initials carved
on a thin seed,
narrow seed,
slow seed,
the carving as slow
as he was slow,
carving A K on a song.

I told him
that even in love —
that thought for the without —
one must preserve oneself.
I told him
a little love is admissible,
all-love suicidal.
I told him,
even if one love a little,
one must preserve oneself.
I told him,
even in fair play —
the love phrase of commerce
which calls for a recognized balance
between two factors or people —
one must preserve oneself.
It's fine to say but not fair,
not fair to oneself —
" My dear sir, I'd like to offer you more than you ask — "
that's an instance of loving,

Whatever tears mine eyes may weep,
One precious thing I still may keep,
Till earth and time shall end;
I think it will be mine in Heaven,
This perfect gift that God has given —
It is your love, my friend.

Whatever tears mine eyes may weep,
One precious thing I still may keep,
Till earth and time shall end;
I think it will be mine in Heaven,
This perfect gift that God has given —
It is your love, my friend.

You shall have love — your share of it;
And honor, too, may be your own;
And gold perhaps, and care of it;
Yet shall you whisper, when alone:
Whatever heart may envy me,
I am as poor as I can be.

You shall have love — your share of it;
And honor, too, may be your own;
And gold perhaps, and care of it;
Yet shall you whisper, when alone:
Whatever heart may envy me,
I am as poor as I can be.

Love is a sword,
a million-bladed sword
slashing the petty pates
and sticking the smug
stomachs of the past
till the pink blood dribble,
and with a roar of ribald song,
flaunting the laughing boyish present
against the stare and whisper
of the doddering future!

Willow: Why do you bend so low
with your staring into the stream?
Only to see how deep it is!

Fool: Do you think you're beardless still
or meditating suicide?
Only to find if one might wade!

Lilies and cat-tails belong to the young,
and the water is cold this time of year?
Only to touch my love over there!

Your love? you love? and which is she?
That wrinkled gnarled old bandy-leg?
The one with the gay white limbs!

Dotard: What could she see in you?
She'd yank your beard and laugh away?
She's nodding her head at me!