POEM: PHILOSOPHY

The sulky sage scarce condescends to see

This pretty world of sun and grass and leaves;

To him‘ tis all illusion — only he

Is real amid the visions he perceives.

No sage am I, and yet, by Love's decree,

To me the world's a masque of shadows too,

And I a shadow also — since to me

The only real thing in life is — you.