The Play

In the rosy light of my day's fair morning,          Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west,     Ere even a shadow of night gave warning          When life seemed only a pleasure quest,     Why then all humour and comedy scorning -          I liked high tragedy best.     I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel,          With a death or a parting in every act.     I liked the villain to be more cruel          Than the basest villain could be in fact:     For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel          Of the things that my life lacked.     But as time passed on, and I met real sorrow,          And she played at night on the stage -my heart,     I found I could not forget on the morrow          The pain I had felt in her tragic part.     For alas! no longer I needed to borrow          My grief from the actor's art.     And as life grows older, and therefore sadder          (Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze),     I find more pleasure in watching the gladder          And lighter order of humorous plays.     Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder,          Than the mirth of my lost days.     I like to be forced to laugh and be merry,          Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife:     I like for an evening at least to bury          All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife.     In sooth, I like to be moved to the very          Emotions I miss in life.