New Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson
page 36 of 136 (26%)
page 36 of 136 (26%)
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We shall make merry, honest friends of mine,
At this unruly time of year, The Feast of Valentine. I know how, day by weary day, Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade. I have not trudged in vain that way On which life's daylight darkens, shade by shade. And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased, Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one, Keep open, at the annual feast, The puppet-booth of fun. I care not if the wit be poor, The old worn motley stained with rain and tears, If but the courage still endure That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years; If still, with friends averted, fate severe, A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine To greet the unruly time of year, The Feast of Valentine. Priest, I am none of thine, and see In the perspective of still hopeful youth That Truth shall triumph over thee - Truth to one's self - I know no other truth. I see strange days for thee and thine, O priest, And how your doctrines, fallen one by one, Shall furnish at the annual feast The puppet-booth of fun. |
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