Part 24 (1/2)

The spirit of the unattained, I am to those who seek to name me, A good desired but never gained.

All shall pursue, but none shall claim me.”

IN THE CROWD.

How happy they are, in all seeming, How gay, or how smilingly proud, How brightly their faces are beaming, These people who make up the crowd.

How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter, How they look at each other and smile, How they glow, and what _bon mots_ they utter!

But a strange thought has found me the while!

It is odd, but I stand here and fancy These people who now play a part, All forced by some strange necromancy To speak, and to act, from the heart.

What a hush would come over the laughter!

What a silence would fall on the mirth!

And then what a wail would sweep after, As the night-wind sweeps over the earth.

If the secrets held under and hidden In the intricate hearts of the crowd, Were suddenly called to, and bidden To rise up and cry out aloud, How strange one would look to another!

Old friends of long standing and years-- Own brothers would not know each other, Robed new in their sorrows and fears.

From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces, Would echo the groans of despair, And there would be blanching of faces And wringing of hands and of hair.

That man with his record of honor, That lady down there with the rose, That girl with Spring's freshness upon her, Who knoweth the secrets of those?

Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly!

Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud!

Though the world is deceived and completely, I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd!

I watch you with infinite pity: But play on, play ever your part, Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty!

'Tis better than showing the heart.

LIFE AND I.

Life and I are lovers, straying Arm in arm along: Often like two children Maying, Full of mirth and song.

Life plucks all the blooming hours Growing by the way; Binds them on my brow like flowers; Calls me Queen of May.

Then again, in rainy weather, We sit vis-a-vis, Planning work we'll do together In the years to be.

Sometimes Life denies me blisses, And I frown or pout; But we make it up with kisses Ere the day is out.

Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him, Try his trust and faith, Saying I shall one day leave him For his rival Death.

Then he always grows more zealous, Tender, and more true; Loves the more for being jealous, As all lovers do.

Though I swear by stars above him, And by worlds beyond, That I love him--love him--love him; Though my heart is fond;

Though he gives me, doth my lover, Kisses with each breath-- I shall one day throw him over, And plight troth with Death.