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To have found the hiding-place
Of the wild wood rose;
To have held, a little space,
Any flower that grows;
To have known a moment’s grace
Looking in a loved one’s face
To have lived, to have lived!
III.
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Still, doth it suffice alone
That the world is fair?
O’er what fields have these hands sown?
Are they gold or bare?
And though all the flowers are flown,
If to God my heart is known,
Then shall I in truth be shown
How to live, why to live!
SONG.
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GLAD and sad make rhyme, my dear,
Glad and sad make rhyme.
Though the sun may not appear,
Though there be a time
When the hours are very long,
And there is no joy for you,
Weave this thought into a song:
Glad and sad make jingle true—
Happy jingle true!
They are joined together, dear,
Joined together they,
Like the dark sky and the clear
Of an April day.
Like the grief that dies in gladness
Turmoil into peace will grow,
Soon there is an end of sadness—
Glad and sad make rhyme, you know,
Perfect rhyme, you know.
They make perfect rhyme, my dear.