Happiness
(Born 1872)
Weary of vainly seeking Happiness
In city alleys full of sound and strife,
I hastened from the noisy human press,—
The labyrinth of this dark, grovelling life.
I said, “The mountain knows its place of rest,”
And clambered up above the level plain;
But the bald Titan answered me distressed:—
“Dullness alone doth Time for me ordain.”
I left the mountain and approached the winds—
Those infinite, proud spirits, ever free;
“We are the sighs of griefs that to your minds
Must still remain unknown,” they answered me.
And then above the winds and clouds I rose,
Soared to the skies, and asked the stars of Heaven.
“We are the tears that flow from countless woes,”
The answer by those eyes of darkness given.
Above the stars, in the lone fields of space,
I saw God musing, sorrowful and mild.
“Father,” I cried, “where is Joy’s dwelling-place?”
He said, “I also do not know, my child.”