Be patient, Life, when Love is at the gate,
And when he enters let him be at home.
Think of the roads that he has had to roam.
Think of the years that he has had to wait.
But if I let Love in I shall be late.
Another has come first—there is no room.
And I am thoughtful of the endless loom—
Let Love be patient, the importunate.
O Life, be idle and let Love come in,
And give thy dreamy hair that Love may spin.
But Love himself is idle with his song.
Let Love come last, and then may Love last long.
Be patient, Life, for Love is not the last.
Be patient now with Death, for Love has passed.