Poetry Archives

Many have sung of love a root of bane:
  While to my mind a root of balm it is,
  For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss
For life and death and rising up again.
Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain,
  Love will grow plain with all its mysteries;
  Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas
Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain.
Love in our borders, love within our heart,
  Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest,
  Ended for ever life’s unending quest,
    Ended for ever effort, change and fear:
Love all in all;—no more that better part
    Purchased, but at the cost of all things here.