We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit
Not always countenance, abject and mute
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made to eternally weep
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark
White stars is no less lovely being dark
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall;
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds