After
Well, my heart, we have been happy;
Let us snatch that from the wreck of things.
But when the forest is choked with ashes,
While still the flame round its old nest flashes,
'T is a brave bird sits on a charred limb and sings!
Well, my heart, we have been happy;
Doubtless we find another nest.
But, though it be softer, one still remembers,
And dearer the ruin of blackened embers
Than all the peace of a later rest.
Let us snatch that from the wreck of things.
But when the forest is choked with ashes,
While still the flame round its old nest flashes,
'T is a brave bird sits on a charred limb and sings!
Well, my heart, we have been happy;
Doubtless we find another nest.
But, though it be softer, one still remembers,
And dearer the ruin of blackened embers
Than all the peace of a later rest.
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