III.
Reading edition
The Love that speaks in word and kiss, That dyes the cheek and fires the eye, Through surface signs of shallow bliss That, quickly born, may quickly die; Sweet, sweet are these to man and woman; Who thinks them poor is less than human. But I do know a quavering tone, And I do know lack-lustre eyes, Behind the which, dumb and alone, A stronger Love his labour plies: He cannot sing or dance or toy— He works and sighs for other's joy. In gloom he tends the growth of food, While others joy in sun and flowers: None knows the passion of his mood Save they who know what bitter hours Are his whose heart, alive to beauty, Yet dies to it and lives for duty.