Birds have no consciousness of doom: <br />Yon thrush that serenades me daily <br />From scented snow of hawthorn bloom <br />Would not trill out his glee so gaily, <br />Could he foretell his songful breath <br />Would sadly soon be stilled in death. <br /> <br />Yon lambs that frolic on the lea <br />And incarnate the joy of life, <br />Would scarce disport them could they see <br />The shadow of the butcher's knife: <br />Oh Nature, with your loving ruth, <br />You spare them knowledge of Dark Truth. <br /> <br />To sad humanity alone, <br />(Creation's triumph ultimate) <br />The grimness of the grave is known, <br />The dusty destiny await . . . . <br />Oh bird and beast, with joy, elance <br />Effulgently your ingorance! <br />Oh man, previsioning the hearse, <br />With fortitude accept your curse!<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dark-truth/
