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The Breath of Life
 I’D like to lift the threads of life
And weave them on a loom
And make a pattern beautiful,
As any day in June.
I’d put ten thousand violets
And shimmering leaves of green,
Around the edge and over it,
To hide each vulgar seam.
Because, death brushed me with dark wings,
Reluctant passed me by,
I take the threads of life again
And weave and smile and sigh.
But if I had a God-like power
Omnipotence of mind,
To put the tho’t of suffering
And death a league behind.
Life would be violets to me
Much sweeter than a dream.
The pattern on my loom would show
No raw and ghastly seam.{37}
But then methinks it is because
Of what the looms disclose.
The breath of life is sweeter
Than the fragrance of a rose.


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