I.

They say that lonely sorrows do not chance.

I think it true, and that the cause I know:

A sorrow glideth in a funeral show

Easier than if it broke into a dance.

But I think too, that joy doth joy enhance

As often as an added grief brings low;

And if keen-eyed to see the flowers that grow,

As keen of nerve to feel the thorns that lance

The foot that must walk naked in one way —

Blest by the lily, white from toils and fears,

Oftener than wounded by the thistle-spears,

We should walk upright, bold, and earnest-gay.

I'll tell you how it fared with me one day

After noon in a world, so-called, of tears.