ΤΟ

MY WIFE

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.

THE

EARTHLY PARADISE.

OF Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing,
I cannot ease the burden of your fears,

Or make quick-coming death a little thing,
Or bring again the pleasure of past years,
Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears,
Or hope again for aught that I can say,
The idle singer of an empty day.

But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by,

Made the more mindful that the sweet days die-Remember me a little then I pray,

The idle singer of an empty day.

The heavy trouble, the bewildering care

That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, These idle verses have no power to bear;

B