THE JOY OF LIFE

Her hair was twined with vine leaves thro’ the gold,

The leopard skin about her shoulders flung

Showed gleams of her as marble — fair and cold;

I breathed not — listening to the song she sung.

Hither and thither thro’ the solemn world,

Glory of purple, passionate blazing red

Glints thro’ the gloom, and thro’ the grey is swirled —

Ah! but the leaves twined sweet about her head.

“Heedless — men pass me in their search for life,

Hunting for altars to their souls’ fine fires,

Crying the sun or joy of toil and strife

And know not that‘ tis I — their heart desires.

They dream not that the sheen on peacock's breast,

The haze and perfume of a Summer's day,

The silver stealing o'er the twilight West

Are joys more rich than all the world's display.”