Happiness.
By Thomas Frederick Young
Fair Happiness, I've courted thee,
And used each cunning art and wile,
Which lovers use with maidens coy,
To win one tender glance or smile.
Thou hast been coy as any maid,
So lofty, distant, stern and cold,
And guarded from a touch of mine,
As miser guards his precious gold.
To win a smile from thee, did seem
A painful, fruitless thing to try,
Thy scornful, thin and cruel lips,
No pity gave thy steely eye.
Thy countenance, so sternly set,
Did seem to say how vain to knock
At thy heart's door, for all within
Was hard, as adamantine rock.
Thus unto me thy visage seem'd,
But faces do not always tell
The feelings of the heart within,
Or thoughts that underneath them dwell.
For e'en at times, I saw thy face
Relax, and look with pity down,
On struggling, weary mortals here,
Without one scornful glance or frown.
At times I've seen thy steely eye,
Sheath'd with a look of tender love,
As if thou saw our mortal woes,
And fain would help, but dare not move.
As if some higher power than thine,
Directed all things here below,
And for some wise and happy end,
Let struggling mortals suffer woe.
Except at times, when from thy face,
A cheerful light is shed on men,
And when, withdrawn within thyself,
We, hopeful, watch for it again.
Such is the happiness of earth, -
A sudden light, a glancing beam,
Which cheers us in our lonely bark,
Upon times dark, relentless stream.
The stormy waves roll darkling on,
And with the current we must go,
Perchance to meet some cheerful beams
Of happiness, amid our woe.
But, if we guide our bark aright,
And guard the precious tenant there,
We soon shall reach a sea of light,
From this dark, troubl'd stream of care.
Then, may we never let the shade
Of bitter trouble and despair,
Hide from our eyes the happy gleams,
Which even we, at times, may share.