He threshes you to make you naked. He sifts you to free you from your husks. He grinds you to whiteness. And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast. But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's theshing-floor, Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself. To know the pain of too much tenderness.