f This is all it will be like,
I wish to Die;—I don't care how—
While I am very, very young;
As young as almost Now.
They never felt what Sorrow was;
Or never learned their Golden Rule;
They say, These are your happiest days,
—With School,—School,—School!
When Saturday's all out of breath
With all the week before in sight;—
And Monday coming after you
Spoils every Sunday night!
And Nothing done but yesterdays;
And Nothing coming but to-morrows!
Don't cheer me up. Please let me be.
—I have the Sorrows.
Secrets
have a secret to myself,
That no one else can see.
I hum it over to myself,
And no one hears but me.
—Something You don't know!
I knew long ago.—
And the more I never tell you it,
The more it gets to be.
It makes me feel as purry
As the Kitten on your knee.
It makes me feel as round and warm
As the Sparrow on that tree;
It makes me puff my feathers out
The way he puffs out his.—
And if you think I haven't one,
I'll tell you what it Is,
—Maybe!