Not This World.
By Margaret Steele Anderson
Shall I not give this world my heart, and well?
If for naught else, for many a miracle
Of the impassioned spring, the rose, the snow?
Nay, by the spring that still must come and go
When thou art dust, by roses that shall blow
Across thy grave, and snows it shall not miss.
Not this world, oh, not this!
Shall I not give this world my heart, who find
Within this world the glories of the mind
That wondrous mind that mounts from earth to God?
Nay, hy the little footways it hath trod,
And smiUs to see, when thou art under sod.
And by its very gaze across the ahyss.
Not this world, oh, not this!
Shall I not give this world my heart, who hold
One figure here above myself, my gold.
My life and hope, my joy and my intent?
Nay, by that form whose strength so soon is spent.
That fragile garment that shall soon he rent.
By lips and eyes the heavy earth shall kiss,
Not this world, oh, not this!
Then this poor world shall not my heart disdain?
Where beauty mocks and springtime comes in vain,
And love grows mute, and wisdom is forgot?
Thou child and thankless! On this little spot
Thy heart hath fed, and shall despise it not;
Yea, shall forget, through many a world of hliss,
Not this world, oh, not this!