Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/79

 But since it must, why, let it end;
 * The false but dies, 't is not the true.

So we are favored, you and I,
 * Who only want the living truth.

It was not good to nurse the lie;
 * 'T is well it died in harmless youth.

I go from you to-night to sleep.
 * Why, what's the odds? why should I grieve?

I have no fund of tears to weep
 * For happenings that undeceive.

The days shall come, the days shall go
 * Just as they came and went before.

The sun shall shine, the streams shall flow
 * Though you and I are friends no more.

And in the volume of my years,
 * Where all my thoughts and acts shall be,

The page whereon your name appears
 * Shall be forever sealed to me.

Not that I hate you over-much,
 * 'T is less of hate than love defied;

Howe'er, our hands no more shall touch,
 * We'll go our ways, the world is wide,

the years the answer lies, Beyond where brood the grieving skies
 * And Night drops tears.

Where Faith rod-chastened smiles to rise
 * And doff its fears,

And carping Sorrow pines and dies—
 * Beyond the years.

Beyond the years the prayer for rest Shall beat no more within the breast;
 * The darkness clears,

And Morn perched on the mountain's crest
 * Her form uprears—

The day that is to come is best,
 * Beyond the years.

Beyond the years the soul shall find That endless peace for which it pined,
 * For light appears,

And to the eyes that still were blind
 * With blood and tears,

Their sight shall come all unconfined
 * Beyond the years.