A Song of Happiness

Ah, happiness: Who called you “Earandel”? (Winter-star, I think, that is); And who can tell the lovely curve By which you seem to come, then swerve Before you reach the middle-earth? And who is there can hold your wing, Or bind you in your mirth, Or win you with a least caress, Or tear, or kiss, or anything— Insensate Happiness? Once I thought to have you Fast there in a child: All her heart she gave you, Yet you would not stay. Cruel, and careless, Not half reconciled, Pain you cannot bear; When her yellow hair Lay matted, every tress; When those looks of hers, Were no longer hers, You went: in a day She wept you all away. Once I thought to give You, plighted, holily— No more fugitive, Returning like the sea: But they that share so well Heaven must portion Hell In their copartnery: Care, ill fate, ill health, Came we know not how And broke our commonwealth. Neither has you now. Some wait you on the road, Some in an open door Look for the face you showed Once there—no more. You never wear the dress You danced in yesterday; Yet, seeming gone, you stay, And come at no man’s call: Yet, laid for burial, You lift up from the dead Your laughing, spangled head. Yes, once I did pursue You, unpursuable; Loved, longed for, hoped for you— Blue-eyed and morning brow’d. Ah, lovely Happiness! Now that I know you well, I dare not speak aloud Your fond name in a crowd; Nor conjure you by night, Nor pray at morning-light, Nor count at all on you: But, at a stroke, a breath, After the fear of death, Or bent beneath a load; Yes, ragged in the dress, And houseless on the road, I might surprise you there. Yes: who of us shall say When you will come, or where? Ask children at their play, The leaves upon the tree, The ships upon the sea, Or old men who survived, And lived, and loved, and wived. Ask sorrow to confess Your sweet improvidence, And prodigal expense And cold economy, Ah, lovely Happiness!