Enfolding love, as life were one caress,
Is baby-fee. For childhood, rosy glow
Of blithe, adventurous blood. For youth, the throe
And ecstasy of passion masterless.
For manhood and for womanhood, the stress
Of long day-labor, till, forwearied so,
With quiet eyes we watch the shadows grow.
Tears for the dead and dark forgetfulness.
These are thy gifts, O Life! fair gifts and sweet,
And each in its appointed hour is best,
Yet incomplete and worse than incomplete,
A mock, a horror, save indeed thou be
What saints have trusted and what sages guessed,
The veilèd angel Immortality.