 | Along the trail |  |
WORLD AND POET
“Sing to us, Poet, for our hearts are broken;Sing us a song of happy, happy love,
Sing of the joy that words leave all unspoken,—
The lilt and laughter of life, oh sing thereof!
Oh, sing of life, for we are sick and dying;
Oh, sing of joy, for all our joy is dead;
Oh, sing of laughter, for we know but sighing;
Oh, sing of kissing, for we kill instead!”
How should he sing of happy love, I pray,
Who drank love's cup of anguish long ago?
How should he sing of life and joy and day,
93
And yet the Poet took his lyre and sang,
Till all the dales with happy echoes rang.
1891
| Along the trail | |