And grief die out 'neath her delicate touch.
We must both be brave and must play our parts;
We must fight the battle with weapons fit;
Time will take sorrow out of our hearts,
But oh, the pity—the pity of it!
There are no more secrets 'twixt you and me;
Our hearts may reveal their thoughts as they pass;
There is a ripple the less on the sea,
And a purer light flits over the grass.
If shadows are dark, and lights are not clear,