"What boots it, in my creed, that man should moan
In Sorrow's Night, or sing in Pleasure's Dawn?
In vain the doves all coo on yonder branch,
In vain one sings or sobs: lo! he is gone.
So solemnly the Funeral passes by!
The march of Triumph, under this same sky.
Trails in its course—both vanish into Night:
To me are one, the Sob, the Joyous Cry.
Many a grave embraces friend and foe,
And grins in scorn at this most sorry show;
A multitude of corses passed therein—
Alas! Time almost reaps e'er he doth sow!
How oft around the Well my Soul would grope
Athirst; but lo! my Pail was without Rope:
I cried for Water, and the deep, dark Well
Echoed my wailing cry, but not my hope.
The door of What-May-Be none can unlock,
But we can knock and guess, and guess and knock:
Night sets her glittering sail, and glides along,
Ship-like; but where, O Night-ship, is thy dock?
Oh, when will Fate come forth with his decree,
That I might clasp the cool clay, and be free?
My Soul and Body, wedded for a while,
Are sick, and would that separation be.
If miracles were wrought in bygone years,
Why not to-day, why not to-day, O seers?
This Leprous Age most needs a healing hand,
Oh, why not heed his cries, and dry his tears?"
MISCELLANEOUS PROVERBS
He who treats you as he treats himself does you no injustice.
He who lives on expectations dies in poverty.