Poem May 30, 1901 ISSUE

June

James Russell Lowell

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;Everything is happy now,Everything is upward striving;'Tis as easy now for the heart to be trueAs for grass to be green or skies to be blue,—'Tis the natural way of living:Who knows whither the clouds have fled?In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;The soul partakes of the season's youth,And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woeLie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

James Russell Lowell.

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