It may be misery not to sing at all,
And to go silent through the brimming day;
It may be misery never to be loved,
But deeper griefs than these beset the way.
To sing the perfect song,
And by a half-tone lost the key,
There the potent sorrow, there the grief,
The pale, sad staring of Life's Tragedy.
To have come near to the perfect love,
Not the hot passion of untempered youth,
But that which lies aside its vanity,
And gives, for thy trusting worship, truth.
This, this indeed is to be accursed,
For if we mortals love, or if we sing,
We count our joys not by what we have,
But by what kept us from that perfect thing.
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sergey May 20, 2013 at 7:45am
This is awful and robratterman sucks!
Reply
robert-bobert May 21, 2013 at 3:10am
Yeah, this guy is just nuts!
robratterman May 21, 2013 at 3:12am
YOU BOTH ARE FIRED!!!