Two lives, one sweet and one most sad, I lead;
Two lives—and one is joy, the other woe;
Two lives—one very dear, one loathed indeed;
Two lives are mine that far asunder flow.
In one I live, in one I do but die;
In one I am, and in the other seem;
In one I smile, in one I do but sigh;
In one I toil, and in the other dream.
One life is strange and full of hot red days,
Strong Love, that checked at naught, wild hope, mad sin;
But in the other there are beaten ways
I traverse steadfastly nor fail therein,
Yet sometimes wonder, as the long months pass,
That what I am has e'er been that I was.