A LITTLE WHILE

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!