Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By JohnBennett

1560 God Bless You, Dear, Today!

IF there be graveyards in the heart

From which no roses spring,

A place of wrecks and old gray tombs

From which no birds take wing,

Where linger buried hopes and dreams

Like ghosts among the graves,

Why, buried hopes are dismal things,

And lonely ghosts are knaves!

If there come dreary winter days,

When summer roses fall

And lie, forgot, in withered drifts

Along the garden wall;

If all the wreaths a lover weaves

Turn thorns upon the brow,—

Then out upon the silly fool

Who makes not merry now!

For is we cannot keep the past,

Why care for what ’s to come?

The instant’s prick is all that stings,

And then the place is numb.

If life’s a lie and Love’s a cheat,

As I have heard men say,

Then here ’s a health to fond deceit—

God bless you, dear, to-day!