The world was warm and white when I was born:
Beyond the window pane the world was white,
A glaring whiteness in a leaded frame,
Yet warm as in the hearth and heart of light.
Although the whiteness was almond and was bone
In midnight’s still paralysis, nevertheless
The world was warm and hope was infinite
All things would come to me and be my own,
all things would be enjoyed, fulfilled and known.
How like a summer the years of youth have passed!
—How like the summer of 1914, in all truth!—
Patience, my soul, the truth is never known
Until the future has become the past
And then, only, when the love of truth at last
Becomes the truth of love, when both are one;
When Eden becomes Utopia, and is surpassed:
For then the dream is knowledge and knowledge knows
Motive and joy at once wherever it goes.
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