338 POEMS 
List to the play of it ! 
That is the way of it ; 
All’s in the music and naught in the words. 
Glad or grief-laden, 
Schubert or Haydn, 
Ballad of Erin or merry Scotch lay ; 
Like an evangel, 
Some baby-angel 
Brought from sky-nursery stealing away. 
Surely I know it, 
Artist nor poet 
Guesses my treasure of jubilant hours. 
Sorrows, what are they? 
Nearer or far, they 
Vanish in sunshine, like dew from the flowers. 
Years, I am glad of them; 
Would that I had of them 
More and yet more, while thus mingled with 
thine. 
Age, I make light of it, 
Fear not the sight of it, 
Time’s but our playmate, whose toys are divine. 
