THE MOODSThe Moods have laid their hands across my hair:The Moods have drawn their fingers through my heart;My hair shall never more lie smooth and bright,But stir like tide-worn sea-weed, and my heartShall never more be glad of small sweet things,—A wild rose, or a crescent moon,-a bookOf little verses, or a dancing child.My heart turns crying from the rose and book,My heart turns crying from the thin bright moon,And weeps with useless sorrow for the child.The Moods have loosed a wind to vex my hair,And made my heart too wise, that was a child.Now I shall blow like smitten candle-flame:I shall desire all things that may not be:The years, the stars, the souls of ancient men,All tears that must, and smiles that may not be,—Yes, glimmering lights across a windy ford,And vagrant voices on a darkened plain,And holy things, and outcast things, and things,Far too remote, frail-bodied to be plain.My pity and my joy are grown alike.I cannot sweep the strangeness from my heart.The Moods have laid swift hands across my hair:The Moods have drawn swift fingers through my heart.FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS
The Moods have laid their hands across my hair:The Moods have drawn their fingers through my heart;My hair shall never more lie smooth and bright,But stir like tide-worn sea-weed, and my heartShall never more be glad of small sweet things,—A wild rose, or a crescent moon,-a bookOf little verses, or a dancing child.My heart turns crying from the rose and book,My heart turns crying from the thin bright moon,And weeps with useless sorrow for the child.The Moods have loosed a wind to vex my hair,And made my heart too wise, that was a child.Now I shall blow like smitten candle-flame:I shall desire all things that may not be:The years, the stars, the souls of ancient men,All tears that must, and smiles that may not be,—Yes, glimmering lights across a windy ford,And vagrant voices on a darkened plain,And holy things, and outcast things, and things,Far too remote, frail-bodied to be plain.My pity and my joy are grown alike.I cannot sweep the strangeness from my heart.The Moods have laid swift hands across my hair:The Moods have drawn swift fingers through my heart.
FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS