I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes. - Sara Teasdale

Faults

They came to tell your faults to me, They named them over one by one; I laughed aloud when they were done, I knew them all so well before, — Oh, they were blind, too blind to see Your faults had made me love you more.

This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead That sparkled so the day I saw it first, And darkened slowly after. I am she Who loves all beauty — yet I wither it.

"I came at last to the ocean
And found it wild and black,
And I cried to the windless valleys,
"Be kind and take me back!