Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/54



Love came to me with tender supplication And shamelessly sought entrance to my nook, I gauged the maiden with a chilling look And gruffly mumbled: “Later.”

The years passed by. With a mournful supplication Measuring hopes with a weary, feeble look, Alone I sought to enter love’s white nook. A voice replied: “Too Late.”

Before me lies a skull white-bleached and furrowed My eyes try hard to count each ridge of strife While in my mind, from out these convolutions, I weave a living picture of past life.

Love carved this furrow; envy cut this groove; This one meant bliss; ill fortune that one wrought; And these few shorter, straighter running furrows Are they not the paths of some former thought?

As my memory records this deathly picture, Thus the mind endows the skull with signs. If in your life you thought but less, old fellow, How much smoother could have been these lines!

Do not weep my comrade, do not worry, ’Cause life’s mysteries give you no rest, Eat and drink and spend life in a hurry, Deep in your grave you’ll have time to digest.

When you die, you will be freed forever, Only dust will you become again, And what puzzled here your best endeavor Still an unsolved puzzle will remain.

For the very song your mind is weaving Shall be sung throughout the time of storms, Vexing falsehoods that have left you grieving Shall vex other men in other forms.