Are never really won.

Even love that I built my spirit's house for,
Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,
And music and men's praise and even laughter
Are not so good as rest.




Song Making



My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew --
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long --
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.