  I.What should we dream, what should we say, On this drear day, in this sad clime! In the garden the asters fade, Smoke of weed-fires blurs the plain, The hours pass with a sullen grace— Can we be gay when skies are grey! II.Would joy prove a more steady guest, In palm-girt, sunnier Southern lands, Some lambient world of green and gold Fanned by the charm of Orient lay! ’Tis vain delusion thus to think That life will change with change of scene. III.Man cannot get away from facts— Alas, stern duty looms supreme, For certain things we must perform, Obey the inward voices’ call. Calm joyous days cannot be wooed Unless our conscience is at peace. IV.Life is to most a weary task, A ceaseless strife for daily bread, We cannot act as we would like, We cannot gain for what we strive. To bear the burden cheerfully Is all this earth allows to us. V.Our tired soul with faint forced smile But rarely scales the loftier themes, Fair Hafiz and Anacreon Have they drunk, laughed and sung in vain! Do grove and grange no longer yield The idyls of Theocritus! VI.Was man once happier than now? Who is there to tell the story Of slaves or Cesars of the past? Still our blood is stirred each spring, Still books and music make us dream, Why mourn the “snows of yesteryear?” VII.There were ever some more favored Who care-free basked in fortune’s sun. The rest did toil. And you and I? We hear the same recurrent rhymes, Like changing seasons, night and day, We simply come, sojourn, and go. VIII.We enter the world unbidden, Plod along roads as we know best. One is born rich, the other poor, Who knows what helps a mortal most. Ere sleep we rub from our eyes We are forever what we are. IX.The laughter of childhood is gone, The toy castles we built are lost— Can we redeem in future days The disappointments of the past! Our nursery songs will they change Into jubilant songs of love! X.Light-headed youth, all smiles around In dew-drenched gardens of spring morns No heed takes of the dial’s stealth. Youth wants to conquer—rule the spheres, While the sun runs his ruthless course And shadows begin to lengthen. XI.In open woods some summer night, The sound of the wind in the leaves— Two vagrant lovers hand in hand— O’er treetops the errant moon. Oh, this mad desire to possess! To waste the soul on blood-red lips. XII.Sex is a power all cherish, We worship it on bended knees, Like old wine it yields the magic Of oblivion and ecstasies, The moments drift on golden clouds To regions of the white beyond. XIII.Alas, that pleasures never last, That we must leave the fairy woods And pass along the great highway. As much as horizons may beckon, They flee us the more we pursue To distances we ne’er can reach. XIV.The more we give the less we gain— This is a bitter truth to tell. Yet passion is a fleeting thing As flowers wane in summer’s heat, Thus eager kisses, thigh to thigh Turn phantoms with the colder morn. XV.Why had you, dearest, to leave me! Why must friend from friend depart. Perchance, I shall find the answer Midst howling winds and rain Where sombre forests sway and moan And lightnings stir the darkest lairs. XVI.Few think they can give without gain, They attempt to barter with love. Love comes, it is here, it departs Leaving wet eyes and broken hearts. How when we are young can we guess: Love’s winter ne’er returns to spring. XVII.Love is a growth, a wondrous plant That scatters its seed-pods unseen, That sheds rarest unknown delights To those few that worship the dream. For love squanders all its treasures, Why should it ask for a return? XVIII.When youth departs, when love grows dim, To grey routine hope dwindles down, Sup well, sit warm, drink deep, sleep sound, Thus run the hours from the glass. New vistas beckon here and there Yet men stay, sullen, where they are. XIX.Oh, to escape from the city, Into the blue, shimmering night, It speaks of all I could have loved, It speaks of all I longed to see, To understand, to own, and feel— Why did so little come to me! XX.Ah, my fate is not different, It is like that of all the rest. There grew flowers at the wayside— They were mine. I did not cull them. There were chances made for blessing When both of us remained unblessed. XXI. <
le, play, and sing, and be alive To every blow of circumstance. LXVI.To meet the hours as they come, Salute the days as they pass by, To bend your neck to no one’s yoke, To be full master of yourself, To do a kindness when you can— That is the happiness of life. LXVII.To help a friend in dire needs, To speak a word to the oppressed, To think of things that help mankind, To scatter joy, unasked, unblessed— For knowing minds divine the rest— That is the happiness of life. LXVIII.Yes, life is vain, life is empty, But why repeat a sad refrain, This echo of Khayyam’s quatrains, As long as each day has a morrow, As long as orchards bloom again, And empty cups may be refilled. LXIX.Though we recall that days are short, Let’s make the passing moments hum. Bees do murmur in the heather, Does sundew exist only for them! A little joy today seems fairer Than the brightest strongholds of Spain. LXX.There are some joys all may attain, To spouse some cause however slight, To be a host to loyal friends, To found some freeholds of your own, Where mothers laugh and children romp, And fare in health and fragrance there. LXXI.Some day religion unbiased May sponsor stern needs of the day, Life grow untrammeled and joyous Without the black magic of law. Science and art prove their uses And quicken the heart-beats of all. LXXII.You, people, come out of your dreams, Woo fortune and you may win her, Fill the world with acts of good cheer, Forget grey cares and ragged toil, Face bravely the swell and the gale And strike out for headlands unknown. LXXIII.Seek beauty and you will find her, Brave the surge of the crowded street, Or rest at the mountain’s green slope And commune with trees and the birds, With the soil and the mossgrown rocks, And pray at the shrine of the gods. LXXIV.There are roses and there is youth, There are joys and sorrows and love, Dawn and twilight, the noonday sun, The rolling plains, sky and the sea, None have lost their old-time mystery, Events pass away, beauty survives. LXXV.Let us wrest beauty from all there is, Each and all in their own poor way, And blithely onward life will flow, Rare like a long-drawn summer’s eve, And we’ll hail and bless each moment Before it fades into the dark.
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