In all his grief or laughter, work or play, Each mood and whim, How brave and tender, day by common day, She speaks through him!
Therefore I say I know her, be her face Or dark or fair-- For when he shows his heart's most secret place I see her there!
Who is the man on Chestnut street With colored toy balloons? I see him with his airy freight On sunny afternoons-- A peddler of such lovely goods! The heart leaps to behold His mass of bubbles, red and green And blue and pink and gold.
For sure that noble peddler man Hath antic merchandise: His toys that float and swim in air Attract my eager eyes. Perhaps he is a changeling prince Bewitched through magic moons To tempt us solemn busy folk With meaningless balloons.
Beware, oh, valiant merchantman, Tread cautious on the pave! Lest some day come some realist, Some haggard soul and grave, A puritan efficientist Who deems thy toys a sin-- He'll stalk thee madly from behind And prick them with a pin!
To use my books all friends are bid: My shelves are open for 'em; And in each one, as Grolier did, I write _Et Amicorum_.
All lovely things in truth belong To him who best employs them; The house, the picture and the song Are his who most enjoys them.
Perhaps this book holds precious lore, And you may best discern it. If you appreciate it more Than I--why don't return it!
_If you appreciate it more_ _Than I--why don't return it!_]
How many humble hearts have dipped In you, and scrawled their manuscript! Have shared their secrets, told their cares, Their curious and quaint affairs!
Your pool of ink, your scratchy pen, Have moved the lives of unborn men, And watched young people, breathing hard, Put Heaven on a postal card.
I sought immortality Here and there-- I sent my rockets Into the air: I gave my name A hostage to ink; I dined a critic And bought him drink.
I spurned the weariness Of the flesh; Denied fatigue And began afresh-- If men knew all, How they would laugh! I even planned My epitaph....
And then one night When the dusk was thin I heard the nursery Rites begin:
I heard the tender Soothings said Over a crib, and A small sweet head.
Then in a flash It came to me That there was my Immortality!
_And then one night_ _When the dusk was thin_ _I heard the nursery_ _Rites begin--_]