(Doth not the soul with laughter fill?)
One knows not what poetic, delicate decease,--
Thou sort of angel with the paralytic will!

But now what are thy plans, thine aims? Art thou of might?
Or has long shedding tears disqualified thy heart?
The tree is scarcely hardy, judging it at sight,
And by thy looks no topping conqueror thou art.

So awkward, too! With the additional offence
Of being now a sort of dazed idyllic bard
That poses in a window, contemplating thence
The silly noon-day sky with an impressed regard.

So totally the same in this extreme decay!
But in thy place a being with some sense, pardy,
Would wish at least to lead the dance, since he must pay
The fiddlers,--at some risk of flutt'ring passers-by!

Canst not, by rummaging within thy consciousness,
Find some bright vice to bare, as 't were a flashing sword?
Some gay, audacious vice, which wield with dexterousness,
And make to shine, and shoot red lightnings Heavenward!

Hast one, or more? If more, the better! And plunge in,
And bravely lay about thee, indiscriminate,
And wear that face of indolence that masks the grin
Of hate at once full-feasted and insatiate.

Not well to be a dupe in this good universe,
Where there is nothing to allure in happiness
Save in it wriggle aught of shameful and perverse,--
And not to be a dupe, one must be merciless!

--Ah, human wisdom, ah, new things have claimed mine eyes,
And of that past--of weary recollection!--
Thy voice described, for still more sinister advice,
All I remember is the evil I have done.

In all the curious movements of my sad career,
Of others and myself, the chequered road I trod,
Of my accounted sorrows, good and evil cheer,
I nothing have retained except the grace of God!

If I am punished, 'tis most fit I should be so;
Played to its end is mortal man's and woman's role,--
But steadfastly I hope I too one day shall know
The peace and pardon promised every Christian soul.

Well not to be a dupe in this world of a day,
But not to be one in the world that hath no end,
That which it doth behoove the soul to be and stay
Is merciful, not merciless,--deluded friend.

THE FALSE FAIR DAYS

The false fair day