FOUR FAIR THINGS
There are three things fair upon earth—may a fourth be found?—
The seed of song in the heart, of a flower in the ground;
The third is the seed of love. Shall there yet be shown
A fourth thing fair upon earth, when these are flown?
Sweet was the new-found gift of a voice to cry
When the pent soul sprang to the lips to sing, or die;
Well, but O aching heart! what is left of it now?—
The shame of a quenched desire, and a burning brow.
A poppy shot up to the sun: 'twas of regal red;
Floating on air seemed the disc of its delicate head.
When the corn fell, what remained of its glory to cull?—
Naught but a scant green stalk, and a naked skull.
As we filled the loud air with our laughter, the silent with love,
The hour was as swift, was as sweet, as the wings of a dove.
Say now, what is left of a joy that was earth's despair?—
A thought, and a sigh, and a glance at the empty chair.
There are three things fair upon earth—may a fourth be found?—
The seed of song in the heart, of a flower in the ground;
The third is the seed of love, and a fourth shall be shown—
The soul of a man, that endures when these are flown.
