All rapture of the moment it destroys;
No one dares taste in peace life’s simplest joys
Until he’s struggled on another stage—
And there arriving, can he there repose?
No—to a new “next” off he flies again;
On, on, unresting, to the grave he goes;
And God knows if there’s any resting then.
Miss Jay.
Fie, Mr. Falk, such sentiments are shocking.
Anna [pensively].