The maiden with her wheel of old
Sat by the fire to spin,
While lightly through her careful hold
The flax slid out and in.

To-day, her distaff, rock and reel
Far out of sight are hurled,
For now the maiden with her wheel
Goes spinning round the world.

Then give to the world the best you have. And the best will come back to you.

Give love, and love to your life will flow.

Give the world the best that you have, and the best will come back to you.

Poetry, if it is not to be a lifeless repetition of forms, must be constantly exploring "the frontiers of the spirit." But these frontiers are not like the surveys of geographical explorers, conquered once for all and settled. The frontiers of the spirit are more like the jungle which, unless continuously kept under control, is always ready to encroach and eventually obliterate the cultivated area.

Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.