Who can say in remoteness of time, in what difference of earthly shape love first come to us as a stranger in the jungle We, in our human family, know him through dependence in childhood, through possession in youth, through sorrow and loss in their season. In childhood we are happy to receive; it is the first opening of love. In youth we take and give, dedicate and possess --rapture and anguish are mingled, until parenthood brings a dedication that, to be happy, must ask for no return. All these are new horizons of content, which the lust of holding, the enemy of love, slowly contaminates. Loss, sorrow and separation come, sickness and death; possession, that tormented us, is nothing in our hands; it vanishes. Love’s elusive entrenchment, his ubiquitous pretence, again become apparent; and in age we may reach a haven that asking for nothing knows how to enjoy.