I HAVE held my life too high, br Spring and harvest, love and laughter, smile and sigh. br I should have held it lightly, like a young leaf rent in haste br From the willow in the waste. br A moment in my fingers; then it fluttered, then it fled, br A little flame of red, br To the God-beholding desert where the soundless years go by,– br I have held my life too high. br br I have held my death too dear, br Shame or honour, peace or peril, pride or fear. br I should have held it softly, as the little cloud that flies br When the heron takes the skies. br I should have held it kindly as a passing whisper,–'Friend, br Here's the end, br Here the silver cord is loosened and the bowl is broken here,'– br But I held my death too dear.