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

Blue Squills

How many million Aprils came
Before I ever knew
How white a cherry bough could be,
A bed of squills, how blue!

And many a dancing April
When life is done with me,
Will lift the blue flame of the flower
And the white flame of the tree.

Oh burn me with your beauty, then,
Oh hurt me, tree and flower,
Lest in the end death try to take
Even this glistening hour.

O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees,
O sunlit white and blue,
Wound me, that I, through endless sleep,
May bear the scar of you.

Never fear though it break your heart — Out of the wound new joy will start;
Only love proudly and gladly and well,
Though love be heaven or love be hell.

She must be rich who can forego
An hour so jewelled with delight,
She must have teasuries of joy
That she can draw on day and night,
She must be very sure of heaven–
Or is it only that she feels
How much more safe it is to lack
A thing that time so often steals.