Sufficiency

A little love, of Heaven a little share,
And then we go — what matters it? since where,
Or when, or how, none may aforetime know,
Nor if Death cometh soon, or lingering slow,
Send on ahead his herald of Despair.
On this gray life, Love lights with golden glow;
Refracted from The Source, his bright wings throw
Its glory round us, should Fate grant our prayer
— A little love!
A little; 't is as much as we may bear,
For Love is compassed with such magic air
Who breathes it fully dies; and, knowing so,
The Gods all wisely but a taste bestow
For little lives, — a little while they spare
A little love.