Whither, we know not. But we know
That if our joy were always so
We might not know it. Strange indeed
This earth where all is paradox,
Pushed to the truth: what lies succeed
When every truth essential mocks
Its truth in figure of a phrase?
How should I care for this, and tire
Body by will to sing thy praise,
Who take this lute, throw down the lyre
As I have done to-day, to win
No guerdon differing from the toil,
Were that accomplished : pain and sin
Are needed for the counterfoil
Of joy and love: if only so
All men had these in keen excess
Those were forgotten : indigo
Is amber’s shadow, but—confess
For all men but ourselves the tint
Of all the earth is dull and black!
Only some glints of love bestow
The knowledge of what meteor wrack
Trails pestilence across the sky.
But we are other—you and I!
So shall we live in deep content,
Unchanging bliss, despise them still
Groping on isle and continent
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