O LIFE! that mystery that no man knows, And all men ask: the Arab from his sands, The Caesar's self, lifting imperial hands, And the lone dweller where the lotus blows; O'er trackless tropics, and o'er silent snows, She dumbly broods, that Sphinx of all the lands; And if she answers, no man understands, And no cry breaks the blank of her repose. But a new form rose once upon my pain, With grave, sad lips, but in the eyes a smile Of deepest meaning dawning sweet and slow, Lighting to service, and no more in vain I ask of Life, "What art thou?" -- as erewhile -- For since Love holds my hand I seem to know! |