London 1904

Monday 18 June 2007

45. 1914 Every Life

Every Life

Every life has vacant pages still
Whereon a man can write the things he will
Tis the mind that makes the body rich
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds
So honour peereth through in the meanest habit
What is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful
Or is the adder better than the eel
Because his painted skin contents the eyes

Far one chord the harp is silent, move one stone
The arch is shattered. One dark cloud can hide
The sunlight, lose one string and the pearls
Are scattered, think one thought a soul may
Perish, say one word and a heart may break

FAI

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