I HAVE held my life too high, <br />Spring and harvest, love and laughter, smile and sigh. <br />I should have held it lightly, like a young leaf rent in haste <br />From the willow in the waste. <br />A moment in my fingers; then it fluttered, then it fled, <br />A little flame of red, <br />To the God-beholding desert where the soundless years go by,– <br />I have held my life too high. <br /> <br />I have held my death too dear, <br />Shame or honour, peace or peril, pride or fear. <br />I should have held it softly, as the little cloud that flies <br />When the heron takes the skies. <br />I should have held it kindly as a passing whisper,–'Friend, <br />Here's the end, <br />Here the silver cord is loosened and the bowl is broken here,'– <br />But I held my death too dear.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/youth-s-end/
