Distichs

Distichs

A wild, wild chase it is that Love gives man,
But where's the man who would not take the run? It's something more to give them 'tis to take,
At least most men I've met complain 'tis so. I love the world because 'tis good I should,
And yet I wish some things were out of it. A long, long day 'twould be that had no end,
That sun is brightest which is born of night. 'Tis thirst that makes the bird fly low for drink,
'Tis need of peac that makes man seek for rest. A dreadful fate it is to meet the man
Who know it all, but how'll we dodge the blow?

W.H.A. Moore

4:10, p. 2

1890.11.29