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We might have been so happy, says the child,
Pent in the weary school-room during summer,
When the green rushes 'mid the marshes wild,
And rosy fruits attend the radiant comer.
We might have been!
It is the thought that darkens on our youth,
When first experience—sad experience—teaches
What fallacies we have believed for truth,
And what few truths endeavour ever reaches.
We might have been!
Alas, how different from what we are,
Had we but known the bitter path before us;
But feelings, hopes, and fancies left afar,
What in the wide bleak world can e'er restore us?
We might have been!
It is the motto of all human things,
The end of all that waits on mortal seeking;
The weary weight upon Hope's flagging wings,
It is the cry of the worn heart while breaking,
We might have been!
A cold fatality attends on love,
Too soon or else too late the heart-beat quickens;
The star which is our fate springs up above,
And we but say, while round the vapour thickens,
We might have been!
Life knoweth no like misery; the rest
Are single sorrows, but in this are blended
All sweet emotions that disturb the breast,
The light that was our loveliest is ended.
We might have been!
Henceforth how much of the full heart must be
A sealed book, at whose contents we tremble;
A still voice mutters 'mid our misery,
The worse to bear because it must dissemble,
We might have been!
Life is made up of miserable hours,
And all of which we crave a brief possessing,
For which we wasted wishes, hopes and powers,
Comes with some fatal drawback on the blessing.
We might have been!
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