Tout Pour L'Amour

The world may rage without,
Quiet is here;
Statesmen may toil and shout,
Cynics may sneer;
The great world,--let it go,--
June warmth be March's snow,
I care not,--be it so
Since I am here.

Time was when war's alarm
Called for a fear,
When sorrow's seeming harm
Hastened a tear.
Naught care I now what foe
Threatens, for scarce I know
How the year's seasons go
Since I am here.

This is my resting-place
Holy and dear,

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poem by Sophie Margaret Hensley
Added by Poetry Lover
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