Unhappy?
"Unhappy?" No; why do you ask?
Because my pen is found
To trace in words of no light task
A sympathy profound
With all that tends toward sadness?
Is't thus you reason, friend,
And think my heart knows not of gladness;
And thus my life will end?
Ah, then 'tis not given you here to see
That underneath this veil,
A heart of love beats full and free
And hath a happy tale
To tell, as well as that of sorrow.
You do not know the signs;
Take heed for often coming morrow,
And learn the sun shines
Where the storms have raged the fiercest,
And the calm that falls
Is greater where an arrow piercest
The hush of Memory's halls.
So if I write in mournful strain,
Paradoxical I see,
And hear the joy through waves of pain
Of Earth's humanity.
"Unhappy!" Not when He hath given
Me scope to soar aloft
And commune with minds who've striven
And reached the goal so oft.
Because my pen is found
To trace in words of no light task
A sympathy profound
With all that tends toward sadness?
Is't thus you reason, friend,
And think my heart knows not of gladness;
And thus my life will end?
Ah, then 'tis not given you here to see
That underneath this veil,
A heart of love beats full and free
And hath a happy tale
To tell, as well as that of sorrow.
You do not know the signs;
Take heed for often coming morrow,
And learn the sun shines
Where the storms have raged the fiercest,
And the calm that falls
Is greater where an arrow piercest
The hush of Memory's halls.
So if I write in mournful strain,
Paradoxical I see,
And hear the joy through waves of pain
Of Earth's humanity.
"Unhappy!" Not when He hath given
Me scope to soar aloft
And commune with minds who've striven
And reached the goal so oft.