O cup of blinding joy and pain!
The taste that none would die without!
The draught that all the world must drain!
WHAT THEN?
Suppose you write your heart out till the world
Sobs with one voice—what then?
Small agonies that round your heart-strings curled
Strung out for choice, that men
May pick a phrase, each for his own pet pain,
And thank the voice so come,