My portion has been joy, but woe
Will come full soon.
Serene as any winter moon
Have been my years, and coursing slow.
But all my vestment gold and blue
I must put off, and take to me
Your sad dull raiment void of hue,
O paradise, from thee I go,
And world so grievous, hail to thee!
O fools that never look with pain
On what has been!
My playmates all, with joyous mien,
Haste to their realm of mist and rain;
While I do grieve to pipe no more
Of all that glad and gay may be
And all that world of happy lore;
From sunny woods I am not fain
To voyage on the winter sea.
1914.