Smoothing soft the nestling head
of a maiden fancy-led
Thus a grave-eyed woman said:
'Richest gifts are those we make,
dearer than the love we take
That we give for love's own sake
'Well I know the heart's unrest;
mine has been the common quest
To be loved and therefore blest
'Favors undeserved were mine
at my feet as on a shrine
Love has laid its gifts divine
'Sweet the offering seemed, and yet
with their sweetness came regret
And a sense of unpaid debt
'Heart of mine unsatisfied
was it vanity or pride
That a deeper joy denied?
'Hands that ope but to receive
empty close, they only live
Richly who can richly give
'Still' she sighed, with moistening eyes
'Love is sweet in any guise;
But its best is sacrifice
'He who, giving, does not crave
Likest is to Him who gave
Life itself the loved to save
'Love, that self-forgetful gives,
Sows surprise of ripened sheaves,
Late or soon its own receives
1884 - John Greenleaf Whittier
A gracious and able Poet.
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