  T THE world is vast and we are small, We are so weak and it so strong, Onward it goes, nor cares at all For us,—our silence or our song, Our fast-day or our festival. We tremble as we feel it sway Beneath our feet as on we fare; But, like a ball which children play, God spins it through the far blue air. We are his own; why should we care? Transcriber’s Note: Ostensible errors in layout were checked against other publishings of the poem and adjusted as noted below. Page 47, A Birthday, final line of stanza beginning (I cannot add the lightest thing) was indented four spaces from two. (All impotent to aid or bless) Page 69, One Lesser Joy, fourth line of stanza beginning (Oh, haunting shadowy dread which underlies) indented two spaces from zero. (“Oh, if only they knew—if only they could know,) Page 104, “Sopr, Arno” changed to “Sopr’ Arno” (Sopr’ Arno, “Fuccio mi fecÉ” and the date—) Page 135, Bereaved, first stanza’s last three lines had indents that were the opposite of the rest of the poem. After consulting another publication, the stanza was adjusted. Page 205, Life, final line of first stanza indented two spaces. (But what are these the long day’s thirst to slake?) |
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