Here is a little poem, some lines of which are often quoted--
"One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it,
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And Pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
"I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not.
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion of something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?"
And when his heart was crushed with the knowledge of the wrong
and cruelty in the world, it was through love alone that he saw
the way to better and lovelier things. "To purify life of its
misery and evil was the ruling passion of his soul,"* said one
who loved him and knew him perhaps better than any living being.
And it was through love and the beauty of love that he hoped for
the triumph of human weal.
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