But once we pass into the shadows, We murmur and fret and frown, And, our length from the bank, we shout for a plank, Or throw up our hands and go down.

We murmur and fret and frown,

Or throw up our hands and go down.

It is easy to sit in your carriage, And counsel the man on foot, But get down and walk, and you'll change your talk, As you feel the peg in your boot.

And counsel the man on foot,

As you feel the peg in your boot.

It is easy to tell the toiler How best he can carry his pack, But no one can rate a burden's weight Until it has been on his back.

How best he can carry his pack,

Until it has been on his back.

The up-curled mouth of pleasure, Can prate of sorrow's worth, But give it a sip, and a wryer lip, Was never made on earth.

Can prate of sorrow's worth,

Was never made on earth.

 An Old Man To His Sleeping Young Bride

As when the old moon lighted by the tender And radiant crescent of the new is seen, And for a moment's space suggests the splendor Of what in its full prime it once has been, So on my waning years you cast the glory Of youth and pleasure, for a little hour; And life again seems like an unread story, And joy and hope both stir me with their power.

And radiant crescent of the new is seen,

Of what in its full prime it once has been,

Of youth and pleasure, for a little hour;

And joy and hope both stir me with their power.

Can blooming June be fond of bleak December? I dare not wait to hear my heart reply. I will forget the question—and remember Alone the priceless feast spread for mine eye, That radiant hair that flows across the pillows, Like shimmering sunbeams over drifts of snow; Those heaving breasts, like undulating billows, Whose dangers or delights but Love can know.

I dare not 

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