PHILOSOPHY

Some tell me "Life is a weariful thing, That Sorrow remains, while joy takes wing." But Sorrow and I already have met: His face is wan and his lips are set; He cometh and goeth on silent feet, Yet between his visits are moments sweet, Moments that come like a blackbird's dart, When Happiness holds me close to his heart; When I sense the rapture of swinging skies And know the thrill of the spring's surprise, As I lie on the mothering Earth's deep breast And clasp my tremulous bosom, lest Some unknown loveliness I might miss, Or forgetful be of the West Wind's kiss.

Like the blackbird's notes in the early hours Which fall like a peal of silver flowers, Joy rings his bells in my waiting ears, And Sorrow departs to his silent meres. "And if he returns?"—my soul will sing Remembering Joy who has taken wing!