So oft the giant world wrests from our grasp
The things we seek in tedious rivalry;
And like the foolish little ants a-tilt,
Great Justice ’bove, who loathes such noxious strife,
Doth make us lose the prize we strove to gain,
And to defeat doth add discomfiture.
WHY GRIEVE?
Why weep we when a spirit flies away,
Why can we not cease crying,—
For life is but the soul’s full form,