52
GOLDEN DAYS
So easy ’tis to rhyme… yet stay!
Oh, terrible misgiving!
Please do not give the game away…
I’ve got to make my living.
V
My Garret,
May 1914.
GOLDEN DAYS
Another day of toll and strife,
Another page so white,
Within that fateful Log of Life
That I and all must write;
Another page without a stain
To make of as I may,
That done, I shall not see again
Until the Judgment Day.
Ah, could I, could I backward turn
The pages of that Book,
How often would I blench and burn!
How often loathe to look!
What pages would be meanly scrolled;
What smeared as if with mud;
A few, maybe, might gleam like gold,
Some scarlet seem as blood.
O Record grave, God guide my hand
And make me worthy be,
