42
The sorrow of one appeals to all.
A song of deepest pain
In men's hearts may remain
When loveliest strains of pleasure's music pall.
No song of flower or sea,
No song of morning on the sun-kissed hills,
No song that takes its cadence from the rills,
Hath in it grief's forlorn eternity.
No Venus hath the power,
Though white and sweet and fair of limb she be
And full of glory of her mother-sea
And her soft mouth in flower,
Yet hath she not the power to lure mankind
For all her deathless charms
As grief can lure,—and as grief's song can bind,
Not with white hands but with gaunt iron arms.
A song of deepest pain
In men's hearts may remain
When loveliest strains of pleasure's music pall.
No song of flower or sea,
No song of morning on the sun-kissed hills,
No song that takes its cadence from the rills,
Hath in it grief's forlorn eternity.
No Venus hath the power,
Though white and sweet and fair of limb she be
And full of glory of her mother-sea
And her soft mouth in flower,
Yet hath she not the power to lure mankind
For all her deathless charms
As grief can lure,—and as grief's song can bind,
Not with white hands but with gaunt iron arms.
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