We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife,
We are not like the children, born in their younger life,
We are marred with our mother's follies and torn with our father's strife.
HAPPINESS
There are so many little things that make life beautiful.
I can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for happiness.
Toward the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach.
The hills lay between me and the setting sun, and over them led a highway.
When some traveller crossed the hill, always a fine grey dust rose
cloudless against the sky.
The traveller I could not distinguish, but the dust-cloud I could see.
And the dust-cloud seemed formed of hopes and possibilities--each speck an
embryo event.
At sunset, when the skies were fair, the dust-cloud grew radiant and shone
with visions.
The happiness for which I waited came not to me adown that western slope,
But now I can recall the cloud of golden dust, the sunset, and the highway
leading over the hill,
The wonderful hope and expectancy of my heart, the visions of youth in my
eyes; and I know this was happiness.
There are so many little things that make life beautiful.
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