A LITTLE WHILE
A little while the tears and laughter, The willow and the rose--A little while, and what comes after No man knows.
An hour to sing, to love and linger . . .
Then lutanist and lute Will fall on silence, song and singer Both be mute.
Our gods from our desires we fashion. . . .
Exalt our baffled lives, And dream their vital bloom and passion Still survives;
But when we're done with mirth and weeping, With myrtle, rue, and rose, Shall Death take Life into his keeping? . . .
No man knows.
What heart hath not, through twilight places, Sought for its dead again To gild with love their pallid faces? . . .
Sought in vain! . . .
Still mounts the Dream on shining pinion . . .
Still broods the dull distrust . . .
Which shall have ultimate dominion, Dream, or dust?
A little while with grief and laughter, And then the day will close;
The shadows gather . . . what comes after No man knows!
