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A Parable of Fiddles.
221
CLIII.
The Answer of the Days.
I sometimes turn from these dark days that be
Backward unto the fair days once I knew—
The far, fair days when all the world seemed true,
Ere yet I learned that joy had wings to flee.
“O Days,” I cry, “so wonderful and blue,
Come back again; come back and bring to me
The silent laughter and the vanished glee;
Come back, dear days, I swear to cherish you!”
Backward unto the fair days once I knew—
The far, fair days when all the world seemed true,
Ere yet I learned that joy had wings to flee.
“O Days,” I cry, “so wonderful and blue,
Come back again; come back and bring to me
The silent laughter and the vanished glee;
Come back, dear days, I swear to cherish you!”
Then back on me with sad, reproachful eye
Each old Day looks, and voices without sound
Come from them: “Mortal, cease that bootless cry;
We came to you bliss-laden, and we crowned
Your soul with joys; and after all we found
You blest us not, but smiled to see us die.”
Each old Day looks, and voices without sound
Come from them: “Mortal, cease that bootless cry;
We came to you bliss-laden, and we crowned
Your soul with joys; and after all we found
You blest us not, but smiled to see us die.”
C. J. O’Regan
CLIV.
A Parable of Fiddles.
Seeing we are as viols to His hand,
I know not whether we should hope or fear
That He should smite a music out of us,
As out of Lear, or Goriot, or Satan—
A tangled wisp of music as from bells
Wind-swung and angry, or a comet-blaze
Of hell-hot harmonies grown slowly cool.
I know not whether we should hope or fear
That He should smite a music out of us,
As out of Lear, or Goriot, or Satan—
A tangled wisp of music as from bells
Wind-swung and angry, or a comet-blaze
Of hell-hot harmonies grown slowly cool.