For Brian When He Is Grown Up This Handful Of The Nuts Of Knowledge I Have Gathered On The Secret Streams. I Thought, Beloved, To Have Brought To You A Gift Of Quietness And Ease And Peace, Cooling Your Brow As With The Mystic Dew Dropping From Twilight Trees. Homeward I Go Not Yet; The Darkness Grows; Not Mine The Voice To Still With Peace Divine: From The First Fount The Stream Of Quiet Flows Through Other Hearts Than Mine. Yet Of My Night I Give To You The Stars, And Of My Sorrow Here The Sweetest Gains, And Out Of Hell, Beyond Its Iron Bars, My Scorn Of All Its Pains.