She pities me, this placid friend of mine; Cooks for her stodgy husband, keeps her home, Lays out her flower beds in neat design, And says, "Poor dear, it's sad to be alone." She boasts her dull content, a pewter prize, Nor sees the living star which I have won. Because no faltering firefly lights my eyes She frets for me -- who looked into the sun. Unmoved and calm, feeling no keen pulse stir, She pities me! Oh, may she never know, Poor kindly heart, that in my soul for her Deep pity and compassion overflow. Such candle-lighted lives, exalted by No heights of ecstasy or sacrifice, Forever dwell in Limbo. You and I Have walked a little space in Paradise. |