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Heart hath its head on its own
palm,
face of the heart is veiled.
Heart's hands are bound with iron chains,
feet of the heart are nailed.
Eyes of the heart are never dry,
heart speaks only through tears.
Ears of the heart are so keen
that voice from the distance it hears.
Voice of the heart is silent,
yet far reaching is heart's cry.
Heart has no question, nor answer,
heart is expressed in deep sigh.
Ways of the heart are
mysterious,
though heart hath the mind of a child.
Heart's breath is full of tenderness,
and heart's expression is mild.
Ideal alone is heart's deity,
constant yearning its life.
Heart is not concerned with life or death.
Heart stands firm through all strife.
Beauty is heart's only object,
its inspirer, its all.
Heart is all power that there is.
Angels attend heart's call.
Heart is itself its own
medicine;
heart all its wounds heals.
No one can ever imagine
the pain that the loving heart feels.
Path of the heart is thorny
which leads in the end to bliss.
Hope is the staff heart holds in hand.
Heart's one desire is a kiss. |
