PHILOSOPHY

Some tell me “Life is a weariful thing,

That Sorrow remains, while joy takes wing.”

But Sorrow and I already have met:

His face is wan and his lips are set;

He cometh and goeth on silent feet,

Yet between his visits are moments sweet,

Moments that come like a blackbird's dart,

When Happiness holds me close to his heart;

When I sense the rapture of swinging skies

And know the thrill of the spring's surprise,

As I lie on the mothering Earth's deep breast

And clasp my tremulous bosom, lest

Some unknown loveliness I might miss,

Or forgetful be of the West Wind's kiss.

Like the blackbird's notes in the early hours

Which fall like a peal of silver flowers,

Joy rings his bells in my waiting ears,

And Sorrow departs to his silent meres.

“And if he returns?” — my soul will sing

Remembering Joy who has taken wing!