Wherever man finds truth, or woman grace,
Or Sorrow tears, or Laughter tears of mirth;
Wherever love is, goddess, I shall be;
Wherever I am, thou—the heart of me!
Ah, we are weary fools—
We men who talk of love and sorrow,
And build philosophy upon old schools,
And yearn for paradise to-morrow.
We are insane! Creation dimly flows
About us, yet like children do we play