Let this single hour atone For the theft of all of me - Sara Teasdale

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly;<p>And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

"O Soul," I said, "have you no tears?
Was not the body dear to you?"
I heard my soul say carelessly,
"The myrtle flowers will grow more blue."