It's a stage, the world, I was taught,
What's the play, and my part, I know not.
I hear each sound, in the neighborhood,
The clamor in my heart, I know not.
Thy love art the balmy radiance of the sun,
Am I in shade or the smart, I know not.
If man art made of clay,
Am I but dirt, living in dirt, I know not.
Who shoves me in this hastening crowd,
To whom I give a start, I know not.
Oh the rivers of my fate, generously flow on,
For I am a slave or a dart, I know not.
No comments:
Post a Comment