When I consider Life and its few years -- <br />A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; <br />A call to battle, and the battle done <br />Ere the last echo dies within our ears; <br />A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; <br />The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat; <br />The burst of music down an unlistening street, -- <br />I wonder at the idleness of tears. <br />Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, <br />Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, <br />By every cup of sorrow that you had, <br />Loose me from tears, and make me see aright <br />How each hath back what once he stayed to weep: <br />Homer his sight, David his little lad!<br /><br />Lizette Woodworth Reese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tears-7/
