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This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me, — The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
Her message is committed To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me!
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.
Our share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
Soul, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
’T is so much joy! ’T is so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so This side the victory!
Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath! And if, indeed, I fail, At least to know the worst is sweet. Defeat means nothing but defeat, No drearier can prevail!
