 | Old Year Leaves |  |
186
JOY AND GRIEF.
Nought gives true happiness unless it touch
Some chord of subtle feeling in the soul,
And thus what oft appear most trivial things
Impart such great delight:—a kindly phrase,
A friendly greeting in the street, or snatch
Of melody but for a moment heard:—
Or even some phrases in a general talk
Addressed to others, heard through being near.
Each of us is an instrument, but each
Is in some notes at least diversely strung
From all our fellows. The musician Joy
With mystic power can play upon our hearts,
And through the heart can ope the hidden door
That guards the sanctuary of the soul.
Some chord of subtle feeling in the soul,
And thus what oft appear most trivial things
Impart such great delight:—a kindly phrase,
A friendly greeting in the street, or snatch
Of melody but for a moment heard:—
Or even some phrases in a general talk
Addressed to others, heard through being near.
Each of us is an instrument, but each
Is in some notes at least diversely strung
From all our fellows. The musician Joy
With mystic power can play upon our hearts,
And through the heart can ope the hidden door
That guards the sanctuary of the soul.
Grief has an equal power, and quickly finds
The portals of the soul, but having found,
He enters not to play with skilful touch,
But roughly beats with rude untutored hand
Upon responsive tender notes, and so
Instead of music only discord comes.
The portals of the soul, but having found,
187
But roughly beats with rude untutored hand
Upon responsive tender notes, and so
Instead of music only discord comes.
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