Now That We've Done Our Best And Worst, And Parted, I Would Fill My Mind With Thoughts That Will Not Rend. (O Heart, I Do Not Dare Go Empty-Hearted) I'll Think Of Love In Books, Love Without End; Women With Child, Content; And Old Men Sleeping; And Wet Strong Ploughlands, Scarred For Certain Grain; And Babes That Weep, And So Forget Their Weeping; And The Young Heavens, Forgetful After Rain; And Evening Hush, Broken By Homing Wings; And Song'S Nobility, And Wisdom Holy, That Live, We Dead. I Would Think Of A Thousand Things, Lovely And Durable, And Taste Them Slowly, One After One, Like Tasting A Sweet Food. I Have Need To Busy My Heart With Quietude.
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