XXIV.
Then I always was too grave,-- Liked the saddest ballad sung,-- With that look, besides, we have In our faces, who die young. I had died, Dear, all the same; Life's long, joyous, jostling game Is too loud for my meek shame.
Then I always was too grave,-- Liked the saddest ballad sung,-- With that look, besides, we have In our faces, who die young. I had died, Dear, all the same; Life's long, joyous, jostling game Is too loud for my meek shame.