You ask why I am sad to-day, br I have no cares, no griefs, you say? br Ah, yes, 't is true, I have no grief-- br But--is there not the falling leaf? br br The bare tree there is mourning left br With all of autumn's gray bereft; br It is not what has happened me, br Think of the bare, dismantled tree. br br The birds go South along the sky, br I hear their lingering, long good-bye. br Who goes reluctant from my breast? br And yet--the lone and wind-swept nest. br br The mourning, pale-flowered hearse goes by, br Why does a tear come to my eye? br Is it the March rain blowing wild? br I have no dead, I know no child. br br I am no widow by the bier br Of him I held supremely dear. br I have not seen the choicest one br Sink down as sinks the westering sun. br br Faith unto faith have I beheld, br For me, few solemn notes have swelled; br Love bekoned me out to the dawn, br And happily I followed on. br br And yet my heart goes out to them br Whose sorrow is their diadem; br The falling leaf, the crying bird, br The voice to be, all lost, unheard-- br br Not mine, not mine, and yet too much br The thrilling power of human touch, br While all the world looks on and scorns br I wear another's crown of thorns. br br Count me a priest who understands br The glorious pain of nail-pierced hands; br Count me a comrade of the thief br Hot driven into late belief. br br Oh, mother's tear, oh, father's sigh, br Oh, mourning sweetheart's last good-bye, br I yet have known no mourning save br Beside some brother's brother's grave.