HOPE not, beloved, to fathom with futile endeavour,
Weaving devices of playing-cards ranged in a row,
Knowledge to-day of the way that to-morrow may go ;
Close up your almanac crowded with prophecies clever ;
Leave it to Zadkiel to guess how the fates shall dissever
Woof from the warp of our lives, and the ebb from the
flow ;
Seek not to guess where the grass of our graveyard must
grow;
Vex not the stars with desire of the futile ‘ for ever. 7
Catch at the cloak of the day as it rushes anigh you,
Let not a blossom of spring spend its sweetness in vain,
Love, and make light of the dreams that the angels deny you,
Smile by your fire at the sleet as it scourges the pane ;
Say to thy soul, Be at peace with the hours as they fly you :
Sunlight will soon be as snow is, and drouth as the rain.
(Justin H. McCarthy)
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