Classic Poem

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!