Thou canst not stir a flower / Without troubling of a star

Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan, For we are born in other's pain, And perish in our own.

O GAIN that lurk’st ungainèd in all gain! O love we just fall short of in all love! O height that in all heights art still above! O beauty that dost leave all beauty pain! Thou unpossessed that mak’st possession vain,

The hills look over on the South, And Southward dreams the sea; And with the sea-breeze hand in hand, Came innocence and she.

The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine, Moves all the labouring surges of the world.