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 But glowing and ever-prepared My oven of zest and delight. ....Tell me, now, house of my heart, Worn, weather-beaten, decay’d— The guests of Desire still can’st thou harbour? Sweet traffic of Love wilt thou house? Hear the word! “I am wind-swept, fire-ruin’d and rent; My babes were all father’d long since. Long since I re-echoed their tangi. Let be!” Nay, tell me, oven of joy, What heat hast thou yet, to prepare me the banquet of life? “''I have cook’d. Lo, the stones are long cold.''” Thou, store of my mind, Many years have ripe harvests in plenty been brought to thy hold; Is there room yet for riches to come? “''To the brim am I fill’d. Bring no more!''”

So answer they all; so it is. In the mind is the strength of the body. Of old, long ago, I had life— I have lived! And a taha fill’d, is it not full? A web woven, is there no rest?

Long was the labour! Now rest thee, rest! Yield thee, yield, to the cherishing sun. The sun is gentle, the silence gentle— Rest! Hands, lie open—the toil is over.