Vita Nuova! Many a year ago,
Wailing, I entered by the Gate of Pain,
The great White City—Life. Did I disdain
Its proffered hospitality, or know
By strange foreknowledge that some herb of woe
Embitters its best wine, and leaves its stain
On every lip that dares its cup to drain?—
Yet who, sweet Life, would thy dear gifts forego?
For though the child may struggle for its birth,
And its first broken utterance be a cry,
Largess of dawn and starlight comes to all—
Soft airs, dear light, sweet sounds, the joy of earth,
Bird song, and whispering leaves, and clouds that fly,
And tender loves that hold the heart in thrall!