The Child And The Sage

YOU say, O Sage, when weather-checked, “I have been favoured so With cloudless skies, I must expect This dash of rain or snow.”

“Since health has been my lot,” you say, “So many months of late, I must not chafe that one short day Of sickness mars my state.”

You say, “Such bliss has been my share From Love’s unbroken smile, It is but reason I should bear A cross therein awhile.”

And thus you do not count upon Continuance of joy; But, when at ease, expect anon A burden of annoy.

But, Sage—this Earth—why not a place Where no reprisals reign, Where never a spell of pleasantness Makes reasonable a pain?

December 21, 1908.