And in sorrows all the daughters of music be brought low;
And the golden bowl be broken and the silver cord be loosed,
Ere the little anxious toiler hath his changeless labor ceased.
Moving slower,
Beating lower,
Struggling bravely in the strife;
First awaking,
Last in breaking
At the crimson font of life.
And the golden bowl be broken and the silver cord be loosed,
Ere the little anxious toiler hath his changeless labor ceased.
Moving slower,
Beating lower,
Struggling bravely in the strife;
First awaking,
Last in breaking
At the crimson font of life.
WOUNDED.
Once a little song bird caroled
Notes of perfect ecstasy,
In bright costume all apparelled,
Happy as a bird could be.
Notes of perfect ecstasy,
In bright costume all apparelled,
Happy as a bird could be.
Never thought of pain or danger,
Made his happy song less sweet;
'Till the footfall of a stranger
Sounded through his cool retreat.
Made his happy song less sweet;
'Till the footfall of a stranger
Sounded through his cool retreat.
Just a red stain on the mosses,
Just a broken, shattered strain;
Just a tiny wing that flutters,
But will never rise again.
Just a broken, shattered strain;
Just a tiny wing that flutters,
But will never rise again.
Lying underneath the grasses,
Hidden from the sportsman's eye;
Hour by hour the long day passes,
Dying, still yet cannot die.
Hidden from the sportsman's eye;
Hour by hour the long day passes,
Dying, still yet cannot die.
Thus one sunny day I found it,
Wounded with a cruel dart;
With sad silence all around it,
Was the little bird—a Heart?
Wounded with a cruel dart;
With sad silence all around it,
Was the little bird—a Heart?
[ 315 ]
