What only in the living of it comes to pass

Ah, do not fear. This is no leaving it all behind no ceasing to care But only a summer's stillness found, after the hard the hazardous spring. If nothing is told except this old diurnal round of earth, not world Then the gentled winds will have to tell. And the slow yield of what was sown At a start so fierce

so stormed upon, that who could have sworn one seed would hold: One single seedm where now - now - in rank beyond tenderest rank has sprung Such grain as needs no words at all. Being itself what's come to show How greenly redeemed

by more than sun - this battlefield

we both have known.