GIVE me not all—this severed bit With tracings of the pattern—see, My weaving mind shall fashion it Into the beauty meant to be. Let the fog clear and close again Hiding that far and perfect view, So may I with creative pain Build up the lovely thing anew. Say not too much—a half-formed word, Stirring the heart, may hold it long And echoes, lost as soon as heard, Ring clearer than the finished song. Sip lightly—be not over keen To drink life's gathered sweetness up. Eyes lose their dreaming that have seen The bottom of an empty cup! |