Josephine Preston Peabody,
The Book of the Homeless
(1916)
“ At folding-time, that crowd, all mother-warm, They crowd, they cling, they wreathe;— And thick as sparkles of the thronging stars, Their kisses swarm. O Rose of Being at whose heart I breathe. Fold over, hold me fast In the dim Eden of a blinding kiss. And lightning heart's desire, be still at last. Heart can no more,— Life can no more Than this. ”
