All the world is full of children,
Laughing over little joys,
Sighing over little troubles,
Fingers bruised or broken toys;
Wishing to be older, larger,
Weeping at some fancied woe;
Oh, the happy, hapless, children!
Still they come, and still they go.

A poet wandered the city street,
With tattered garments, and aching feet;
Want and hunger had dimmed his eye,
And the children jeered him, as he passed by.

But one of the children sang, at play,
A song his mother had sung that day.
The poet listened, with cheeks aflame,
For the song was his own, and this was fame!

But his heart was lightened. The song of the boy
Had thrilled the strings, with a strange, sweet joy.
"Though I may lie with the nameless dead,
The songs I’ve written will live," he said.

All the selfish joys of earth
I am getting through.
That which used to lure and lead
Now I pass and give no heed;
Only one thing seems of worth--
Just you.

Not for me the lonely height,
And the larger view;
Lowlier ways seems fair and wide,
While we wander side by side.
One thing makes the whole world bright--
Just you.

Just you, just you, just you, my love

Not for distant goals I run,
No great aim pursue;
Most of earth's ambitions seem
Like the shadow of a dream.
All the world to me means one--
Just you.

? All the selfish joys of earth
I am getting through.
That which used to lure and lead
Now I pass and give no heed;
Only one thing seems of worth--
Just you.

Just you, just you, just you, my love

The stars are all swinging to metres and rhyme,
The planets are singing while suns mark the time.
The moonbeams and rivers float off in a trance,
The Universe quivers on, on with the dance!

Our partners we pick from the best of the throng
In the ballroom of Life and go lilting along.
We follow our fancy and choose as we will,
For waltz or for tango or merry quadrille.

But ever one partner is waiting us all,
At the end of the programme, to finish the ball.
Unasked and unwelcome, he comes without leave
And calls when he chooses, "My dance, I believe?".

And none may refuse him and none may say no,
When he beckons the dancer, the dancer must go.
You may hate him and shun him and yet in life's ball,
For the one who lives well, 'tis the best dance of all.

I loved a maiden, long ago,
She held within her hand my fate;
And in the ruddy sunset glow
We lingered at the garden gate.

The splendor of the western skies
Lay in a halo on her hair.
I gazed with worship in her eyes,
And deemed her true and knew her fair.

Long Ago…

"Good night," I said, and turned away;
She held me with her subtle smile.
I saw her red lips whisper "stay,"
And so I lingered yet awhile.

"I love you, love you, sweet!" I said,
She laughed, and whispered, "I love you."
I kissed her small mouth, ripe and red,
And knew her fair, and deemed her true.

Long Ago…

'Twas very, very long ago,
And I was young, and so was she;
My faith as love was strong, for oh!
The maid was all the world to me.

But as the sunset died away
And left the heavens cold and blue,
So died my dream of love one day.
The maid was only fair, not true.

Long Ago…

It doesn’t matter very much to me
Through what strange ways
my pathway now may lead
Since I know
it runs away from thee
I give it little heed.

It doesn’t matter if in calm or strife
Shall ebb or flow
for me the future's tide,
I had but one
great longing in my life,
And that has been denied.

It doesn’t matter if I stand or fall,
Or walk with kings
or with the rank or file,
Life's loftiest aims
and best ambitions all,
Were centered in your smile.

It doesn’t matter what the world may say,
I feel no interest
in its blame or praise,
I only know
we dwell apart today,
And shall through endless days.

It doesn’t matter, for my restless heart
Is numb to sorrow,
or to pleasure's touch;
Since it must be
that we two drift apart,
Why nothing matters much.

I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go,
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.

I told you the gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring,
And, love, it has all come true.

I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again.

I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and so full of light
That it would waken at length, in its smile.

Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown---the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.

I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again.

That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.