When beauty grows too great to bear How shall I ease me of its ache, For beauty more than bitterness Makes the heart break. - Sara Teasdale

The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you.

And as I played, a child came thro' the gate, A boy who looked at me without a word, As tho' he saw stretch far behind my head Long lines of radiant angels, row on row. That day we spoke a little, timidly, And after that I never heard the voice That sang so many songs for love of me.

"At Night

Love said, "Wake still and think of me,"
Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day,"
But Dreams came by and smilingly
Gave both to Love and Sleep their way."