'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend,
If we all went just one way;
Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,
Though they lead apart to-day.
You like the shade, and I like the sun;
You like an even pace,
I like to mix with the crowd and run,
And then rest after the race.
I like danger, and storm and strife,
You like a peaceful time;
I like the passion and surge of life,
You like its gentle rhyme.
You like buttercups, dewy sweet,
And crocuses, framed in snow;
I like roses, born of the heat,
And the red carnation's glow.
I must live my life, not yours, my friend,
For so it was written down;
We must follow our given paths to the end,
But I trust we shall meet--in town.
[OVER THE BANISTERS]
Over the banisters bends a face,
Daringly sweet and beguiling.
Somebody stands in careless grace
And watching the picture, smiling.
The light burns dim in the hall below,
Nobody sees her standing,
Saying good-night again, soft and low,
Halfway up to the landing.
Nobody only the eyes of brown,
Tender and full of meaning,
That smile on the fairest face in town,
Over the banisters leaning.
Tired and sleepy, with drooping head,
I wonder why she lingers;
Now, when the good-nights all are said,
Why, somebody holds her fingers.