Part 2 (1/2)

It does not matter what the world may say: I feel no interest in its blame or praise.

I only know we dwell apart to-day, And shall through endless days.

It does not matter. For my restless heart Is numb to sorrow, or to pleasure's touch.

Since it must be that we two drift apart, Why, nothing matters much.

THE UNDER-TONE

In the dull, dim dawn of day I heard The twitter and thrill of a brown-backed bird, As he sat and sang in the leafless tree, A herald of beautiful days to be.

But the minor running under the strain Went to my heart with a sudden pain, For never so sad a sound I heard As the troubled thrill of the brown-backed bird.

Not in the wearisome wash of waves, With moaning murmur of wrecks and graves, Not in the weird winds' wildest wail, Not in the roar of the rus.h.i.+ng gale.

Not in the sob of dying years Are sounds so solemn and full of tears.

O herald of days that are green and glad, Why was your morning song so sad?

Have you a secret hidden away, Of sorrow to come with a coming day?

Folded under a folded leaf, Lies there trouble and bitter grief?

The shadow of death, and tears, and gloom Coming to me when roses bloom?

Will the beautiful days I long for so Hold like your song a strain of woe?

What is the secret you hide from me O herald of days that are to be?

And why was that desolate minor moan Lurking under your gladdest tone?

WORTH LIVING

I know not what the future may hold, Or how to others it seems, But I know my skies have held more gold Than I used to find in my dreams.

Though the whole world sings of hopes death chilled, In grateful truth I say, That my best hopes have been fulfilled, And more than fulfilled to-day.

Though oft my arrow I aim at the sun To see it fall into the sand, Yet just as often some work I have done Is better than I have planned.

I do not always grasp the pleasure For which I reach, maybe; But quite as frequently over-measure Is given by joy to me.

To-morrow may bring a grief behind it That will thoroughly change my mood; But we only can speak of a thing as we find it-- And I have found life good.