I Happy who saith: Enough. Soft is Aurora's touch that breaks his slumber; His clasped hands never prayed For life, ne'er roamed his shade; He lives with time, nor are the sands that number His golden minutes rough. II How bountiful is Love! When hope is fled, he comes with wings of blessing: His pleasure is to give His all, and poor to live; But he grows rich, the treasure twice possessing Himself he robbeth of. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LORD WALTER'S WIFE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING EPIGRAMS: BOOK I, 1 by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS AN OLD SONG by SOLOMON BLOOMGARDEN UNDOMESTICATED ANIMALS by BERTON BRALEY VIVAMUS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES AN ELECTION BALLAD by ROBERT BURNS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. THE WIND CHANTS WELL TO-DAY by EDWARD CARPENTER |