名人诗歌|Hap

If but some vengeful god would call to me

From up the sky， and laugh： Thou suffering thing，

Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy^1，

that thy love's loss is my hate's profiting！

Then would I bear it， clench^{2 myself， and die，}

Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited；

Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I

Had willed and meted^{3 me the tears I shed.}

But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain^4，

And why unblooms the best hope ever sown？

Crass Casualty obstructs^{5 the sun and rain，}

And dicing^{6 Time for gladness casts a moan. . .}

These purblind^{7 Doomsters had as readily strown}

Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.