_by Richard Le Gallienne._
So many times the heart can break,
So many ways—
Yet beat along and beat along,
So many days.
A fluttering thing we never see,
And only hear
When some stern doctor to our side
Presses his ear.
Strange hidden thing that beats and beats,
We know not why,
And makes us live, though we, indeed,
Would rather die.
Mysterious, fighting, loving thing—
So sad, so true!
I would my laughing eyes some day
Might look on you.