Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/52

32 Let Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer—

We shall make merry, honest friends of mine,

At this unruly time of year,

The Feast of Valentine.

I know how, day by weary day,

Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade.

I have not trudged in vain that way

On which life's daylight darkens, shade by shade.

And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased,

Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one,

Keep open, at the annual feast,

The puppet-booth of fun.

I care not if the wit be poor,

The old worn motley stained with rain and tears,

If but the courage still endure

That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years;

If still, with friends averted, fate severe,

A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine

To greet the unruly time of year,

The Feast of Valentine.

Priest, I am none of thine, and see

In the perspective of still hopeful youth

That Truth shall triumph over thee—

Truth to one's self—I know no other truth.