REVERIE.
We laugh when our souls are the saddest, We shroud all our griefs in a smile; Our voices may warble their gladdest, And our souls mourn in anguish the while.
And our eyes wear a summer's bright glory, When winter is wailing beneath; And we tell not the world the sad story Of the thorn hidden back of the wreath
Ah! fast flow the moments of laughter, And bright as the brook to the sea; But ah! the dark hours that come after Of moaning for you and for me.
Yea, swift as the sunshine, and fleeting As birds, fly the moments of glee! And we smile, and mayhap grief is sleeting Its ice upon you and on me.