THE PLAY

In the rosy light of my day's fair morning,

Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west,

Ere even a shadow of night gave warning

When life seemed only a pleasure quest,

Why then all humour and comedy scorning —

I liked high tragedy best.

I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel,

With a death or a parting in every act.

I liked the villain to be more cruel

Than the basest villain could be in fact:

For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel

Of the things that my life lacked.

But as time passed on, and I met real sorrow,

And she played at night on the stage — my heart,

I found I could not forget on the morrow

The pain I had felt in her tragic part.

For alas! no longer I needed to borrow

My grief from the actor's art.

And as life grows older, and therefore sadder

( Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze ),

I find more pleasure in watching the gladder

And lighter order of humorous plays.

Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder,

Than the mirth of my lost days.

I like to be forced to laugh and be merry,

Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife:

I like for an evening at least to bury

All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife.

In sooth, I like to be moved to the very

Emotions I miss in life.