SOMETIMES, when after spirited debate <br />Of letters or affairs, in thought I go <br />Smiling unto myself, and all aglow <br />With some immediate purpose, and elate <br />As if my little, trivial scheme were great, <br />And what I would so were already so: <br />Suddenly I think of her that died, and know, <br />Whatever friendly or unfriendly fate <br />Befall me in my hope or in my pride, <br />It is all nothing but a mockery, <br />And nothing can be what it used to be, <br />When I could bid my happy life abide, <br />And build on earth for perpetuity, <br />Then, in the deathless days before she died.<br /><br />William Dean Howells<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/change-249/
