| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917. |
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| 32. Tears |
| | | By Lizette Woodworth Reese |
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| WHEN I consider Life and its few years— | |
| A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; | |
| A call to battle, and the battle done | |
| Ere the last echo dies within our ears; | |
| A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; | 5 |
| The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat; | |
| The burst of music down an unlistening street,— | |
| I wonder at the idleness of tears. | |
| Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, | |
| Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, | 10 |
| By every cup of sorrow that you had, | |
| Loose me from tears, and make me see aright | |
| How each hath back what once he stayed to weep: | |
| Homer his sight, David his little lad! | |
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