Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember
How of human days he lived the better part. April came to bloom and never dim December
Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart.
Doomed to know not winter, only spring, a being
Trod the flowery April blithely for a while, Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing,
Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile.
Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished,
You alone have crossed the melancholy stream, Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished
Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream.
All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason,
Shame, dishonor, death, to him were but a name. Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the singing season
And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
Davos, 1881.
Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well—
That is light grieving! lighter, none befell,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing; at her marriage bell
The bride weeps; and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet has forgot
Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place,
And touch but tombs,—look up! Those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.