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Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.
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So many Gods, so many creeds
So many ways that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind
is all this sad world needs.
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It ever has been since time began, And ever will be, till time lose breath, That love is a mood - no more - to a man, And love to a woman is life or death.
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You like buttercups, dewy sweet, And crocuses, framed in snow; I like roses, born of the heat, And the red carnation's glow.
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Laugh and the world laughs with you; Weep and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, but has trouble enough of its own.
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