"Poor Love !" Said Life

"Poor Love!" said Life, "that hast nor gold,Nor lands, nor other store, I ween;Thy very shelter from the coldIs oft but lowly built and mean.""Nay: though of rushes be my bed,Yet am I rich," Love said.

"But," argued Life, "thrice fond art thouTo yield the sovereign gifts of Earth—The victor sword, the laureled brow—For visioned things of little worth!"Love gazed afar with dreamt-lit eyes,And answered, "Nay: but wise."

"Yet, Love," said Life, "what can atoneFor all the travail of thy years—The yearnings vain, the vigils lone,The pain, the sacrifice, the tears?"Soft as the breath breathed from a rose,The answer came: "Love knows."