A broken tale of endless things,
Take, lady: thou art not of those
Who in what vale a fountain springs
Would have its journey close.
Countless beginnings, fair first parts,
Leap to the light, and shining flow;
All broken things, or toys or hearts,
Are mended where they go.
Then down thy stream, with hope-filled sail,
Float faithful fearless on, loved friend;
’Tis God that has begun the tale
And does not mean to end.