Epilogue

Would I could sing of joy I only Remember as without alloy: Of life full-filled, that once was lonely: Of love a treasure, not a toy: Of grief, regret but makes the keener, Of aspiration, failure mars-- These would I sing, and sit serener. Than song among the stars.

Would I could sing of faith unbroken; Of heart-kept vows, and not of tears: Of promised faith and vows love-spoken, That have been kept through many years: Of truth, the false but leaves the truer; Of trust, the doubt makes doubly sure-- These would I sing, the noble doer Whose dauntless heart is pure.

I would not sing of time made hateful; Of hope that only clings to hate: Of charity, that grows ungrateful; And pride that will not stand and wait.-- Of humbleness, care hath imparted; Of resignation, born of ills, These would I sing, and stand high-hearted As hope upon the hills.

Once on a throne of gold and scarlet I touched a harp and felt it break; I dreamed I was a king--a varlet, A slave, who only slept to wake!-- Still on that harp my memory lingers, While on a tomb I lean and read, “Dust are our songs, and dust we singers, And dust are all who heed.”