Fantasia

The happy men that lose their heads     They find their heads in heaven,     As cherub heads with cherub wings,     And cherub haloes even:     Out of the infinite evening lands     Along the sunset sea,     Leaving the purple fields behind,     The cherub wings beat down the wind     Back to the groping body and blind     As the bird back to the tree.     Whether the plumes be passion-red     For him that truly dies     By headsmen's blade or battle-axe,     Or blue like butterflies,     For him that lost it in a lane     In April's fits and starts,     His folly is forgiven then:     But higher, and far beyond our ken,     Is the healing of the unhappy men,     The men that lost their hearts.     Is there not pardon for the brave     And broad release above,     Who lost their heads for liberty     Or lost their hearts for love?     Or is the wise man wise indeed     Whom larger thoughts keep whole?     Who sees life equal like a chart,     Made strong to play the saner part,     And keep his head and keep his heart,     And only lose his soul.