Half guessed, half named from age to age,

Wherein I quench the flame and rage

And sorrow with which life is fraught."

III.

The Love that speaks in word and kiss,

That dyes the cheek and fires the eye,

Through surface signs of shallow bliss

That, quickly born, may quickly die;

Sweet, sweet are these to man and woman;

Who thinks them poor is less than human.

But I do know a quavering tone,

And I do know lack-lustre eyes,

Behind the which, dumb and alone,

A stronger Love his labour plies:

He cannot sing or dance or toy—

He works and sighs for other's joy.

In gloom he tends the growth of food,

While others joy in sun and flowers:

None knows the passion of his mood

Save they who know what bitter hours

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