It never can be mine
To sit in the door in the sun
And watch the world go by,
A pageant and a dream;
For I was born for love,
And fashioned for desire,
Beauty, passion, and joy,
And sorrow and unrest;
And with all things of earth
Eternally must go,
Daring the perilous bourn
Of joyance and of death,
A strain of song by night,
A shadow on the hill,
A hint of odorous grass,
A murmur of the sea.