HE who has once been happy is for aye <br /> Out of destruction's reach. His fortune then <br />Holds nothing secret; and Eternity, <br /> Which is a mystery to other men, <br />Has like a woman given him its joy. <br /> Time is his conquest. Life, if it should fret. <br />Has paid him tribute. He can bear to die, <br /> He who has once been happy! When I set <br />The world before me and survey its range, <br /> Its mean ambitions, its scant fantasies, <br />The shreds of pleasure which for lack of change <br /> Men wrap around them and call happiness, <br />The poor delights which are the tale and sum <br />Of the world's courage in its martyrdom; <br /> <br />When I hear laughter from a tavern door, <br /> When I see crowds agape and in the rain <br />Watching on tiptoe and with stifled roar <br /> To see a rocket fired or a bull slain, <br />When misers handle gold, when orators <br /> Touch strong men's hearts with glory till they weep, <br />When cities deck their streets for barren wars <br /> Which have laid waste their youth, and when I keep <br />Calmly the count of my own life and see <br /> On what poor stuff my manhood's dreams were fed <br />Till I too learn'd what dole of vanity <br /> Will serve a human soul for daily bread, <br />--Then I remember that I once was young <br />And lived with Esther the world's gods among.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/with-esther/
