Inadequate and void, the days

Are not more tired than tears;

And yet, how long, how long the ways,

Down the bare lane of years.

The bird that flutters from the nest

Is fused of fire and spring,

And yet how soon the throbbing breast

Will lose the life to sing.

How long the lane, how soon ’tis past,

Rough road, dark sky above,

And yet, dear heart, there’s home at last,

With light, and life, and love!