 | New songs of innocence |  |
95
AT THE WORLD'S PLAY.
From marking the times and the seasons
In our watch-tower next the sky—
The rains, and their cloudy reasons,
The winds that weirdless fly,
The years that bloom and are buried,
And yet return again,
Till our hopes o'er Styx are ferried—
We turn to the world of men.
In our watch-tower next the sky—
The rains, and their cloudy reasons,
The winds that weirdless fly,
The years that bloom and are buried,
And yet return again,
Till our hopes o'er Styx are ferried—
We turn to the world of men.
We look from our box, my children,
On the ever-busy stage—
Its footlights false, bewildering,
Its precepts smooth and sage.
So snugly and easily uttered
By the actors, one and all—
Never a breast seems fluttered
Save at the prompter's call.
On the ever-busy stage—
Its footlights false, bewildering,
Its precepts smooth and sage.
So snugly and easily uttered
By the actors, one and all—
Never a breast seems fluttered
Save at the prompter's call.
Fashion, the prompter, sits there
In semblance of a queen;
She robes unruly wits there
In garbs uncouth and mean.
But they that ape her gestures,
And watch her every way,
She gives them lordly vestures,
And pleasant parts to play.
In semblance of a queen;
She robes unruly wits there
In garbs uncouth and mean.
96
And watch her every way,
She gives them lordly vestures,
And pleasant parts to play.
What is the play? you ask me—
I'm sure I cannot tell!
To give its plot would task me
And weary you as well.
Intrigues without an ending
And never a point at all—
The moral needs amending
Before the curtain fall!
I'm sure I cannot tell!
To give its plot would task me
And weary you as well.
Intrigues without an ending
And never a point at all—
The moral needs amending
Before the curtain fall!
But Willie, I see you watching
The stage with eager eyes—
That its liveliness is catching
There's nobody denies.
The changes and the chances
Of the uncertain strife;
The mist o'er death that dances,
That worldly men call life!
The stage with eager eyes—
That its liveliness is catching
There's nobody denies.
The changes and the chances
Of the uncertain strife;
The mist o'er death that dances,
That worldly men call life!
You would never be happy yonder
Amid yon idle crowd.
They rush to the latest wonder
With joy not deep, but loud,
Like dogs to a bone that's flung them—
But I need not speak, I see
You would rather be down among them
Than up in the clouds with me!
Amid yon idle crowd.
They rush to the latest wonder
With joy not deep, but loud,
Like dogs to a bone that's flung them—
But I need not speak, I see
You would rather be down among them
Than up in the clouds with me!
| New songs of innocence | |