Perhaps the dearest things are those
‘ ‘ we never can fulfil,
The dreams that in their wrappings lie
‘ ‘ unopened – ever still
Surely the nicest gift
‘ ‘ lies still unopened in its box?
A jewel is it?’  A flower?
‘ ‘ perhaps a doll with golden locks?
Perhaps the hopes we dare to hope
‘ ‘ that in our memories lie
Are all the purer for that
‘ ‘ we never could them try
Our minds are numbed sometimes
‘ ‘ that the dearest cannot be
But remain as stars in a dark deep sky
‘ ‘ or jewel’s glint in the sea.