Hope Is Like A Hairball Trembling From

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit.

I Lock My Door Upon Myself, And Bar Them Out; But Who Shall Wall Self From Myself, Most Loathed Of All?

It Is Not The Deed We Do Though The Deed Be Never So Fair, But The Love That The Dear Lord Looketh For, Hidden With Lovely Care In The Heart Of The Deed So Fair.

Rest, Rest At The Heart's Core . . . Till Joy Shall Overtake.

Lie Still, Lie Still, My Breaking Heart; My Silent Heart, Lie Still And Break: Life, And The World, And Mine Own Self, Are Changed For A Dream's Sake.