HE who has once been happy is for aye Out of destruction's reach.
His fortune
Holds nothing secret; and Eternity, Which is a mystery to other men,
Has like a woman given him its joy. Time is his conquest.
Life, if it should fret.
Has paid him tribute.
He can bear to die, He who has once been happy!
When I
The world before me and survey its range, Its mean ambitions, its scant fantasies,
The shreds of pleasure which for lack of change Men wrap around them and call happiness,
The poor delights which are the tale and
Of the world's courage in its martyrdom;
When I hear laughter from a tavern door, When I see crowds agape and in the
Watching on tiptoe and with stifled roar To see a rocket fired or a bull slain,
When misers handle gold, when orators Touch strong men's hearts with glory till they weep,
When cities deck their streets for barren wars Which have laid waste their youth, and when I
Calmly the count of my own life and see On what poor stuff my manhood's dreams were
Till I too learn'd what dole of vanity Will serve a human soul for daily bread,—Then I remember that I once was
And lived with Esther the world's gods among.
