A gleam of sun has dyed the west afar;
The lights come out down in the little town,
'Neath the first glimmer of the evening star.
Did my heart forge the bitter words I said?
Did your heart breed those bitterer replies—
Spoken with plovers wheeling overhead
In the gray pallor of the cheerless skies?
Is it worth while to quarrel and upbraid,
Life being so little and love so great a thing?
The price of all life's follies has been paid