The self does not realize itself most fully when self-realization is its most constant aim.

The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence.

ROSEMARY
Beauty and Beauty’s son and rosemary — Venus and Love, her son, to speak plainly — born of the sea supposedly, at Christmas each, in company,
braids a garland of festivity.
Not always rosemary — since the flight to Egypt, blooming differently.
With lancelike leaf, green but silver underneath,
its flowers — white originally — turned blue. The herb of memory,
imitating the blue robe of Mary,
is not too legendary
to flower both as symbol and as pungency.
Springing from stones beside the sea,
the height of Christ when thirty-three — it feeds on dew and to the bee
“hath a dumb language”; is in reality
a kind of Christmas-tree.