Speak, History! Who are life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say: Are they those whom the world calls the victors, who won the success of a day? |
The hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart, Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part. |
The rain keeps constantly raining, And the sky is cold and gray, And the wind in the trees keeps complaining That summer has passed away; -- |
Those black eyes I once so praised Now are hard and sharp and cold; Where's the love that through them blazed? Where's the tenderness of old? |
We live as much in all that we have lost As what we own. |
What looks like swindling with a petty sum, Is on a grand and speculative scale Honest enough, so it be large enough. |
When, full of warm and eager love, I clasp you in my fond embrace, You gently push me back and say, "Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace." |