O bird beneath the midnight sky! As on my lonely couch I lie, I hear thee singing in the dark— Why sing not I?
No star-gleams meet thy wakeful eye; No fond mate answers to thy cry; No other voice, through all the dark, Makes sweet reply.
Yet never skylark soaring high Where sunlit clouds rejoicing lie, Sang as thou singest in the dark, Not mute as I!
O lone, sweet spirit! tell me why So far thy ringing love-notes fly, While other birds, hushed by the dark, Are mute as I?
No prophecy of morn is nigh; Yet as the sombre hours glide by, Bravely thou singest in the dark— Why sing not I?
COME WHAT MAY
Come what may— Though what remaineth I may not know, Nor how many times the rose may blow For my delight, or whether the years Shall be set to the chime of falling tears, Or go on their way rejoicing— Yet, come what may, I have had my day!
Come what may— The lurid storm or the sunset peace, The lingering pain or the swift release, Lonely vigils and watchings long, Passionate prayer or soaring song, Or silence deep and golden— Still, come what may, I have had my day!
Come what may, I have known the fiery heart of youth, Its rapturous joy, its bitter ruth; I have felt the thrill of the eager doer, The quick heart-throb of the swift pursuer, The flush of glad possession— And, come what may, I have had my day!
Come what may, I have learned that out of the night is born The mystic flower of the early morn; I have learned that after the frost of pain The lily of peace will bloom again, And the rose of consolation. Then, come what may, I have had my day!