One cannot make another happy,
Whatever one might do or say,
For happiness remains a choice
Not even love can hope to sway.
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The sacrifice of time and strength
And preference and goods may be
Of help, of course, but cannot calm
The winds that roil a restless sea.
Everything one does, like dust,
Transforms the light in which all live.
But happiness is not a gift
It is within one’s power to give.
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One can only love, and be
A witness to the life that each
At last must live alone, for
Well or ill beyond a lover’s reach.