Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)
The Play
In the rosy light of my day’s fair morning, Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west, Ere even a shadow of night gave warning When life seemed only a pleasure quest, Why then all humour and comedy scorning-- I liked high tragedy best. I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel, With a death or a parting in every act. I liked the villain to be more cruel Than the basest villain could be in fact: For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel Of the things that my life lacked. But as time passed on, and I met real sorrow, And she played at night on the stage--my heart, I found I could not forget on the morrow The pain I had felt in her tragic part. For alas! no longer I needed to borrow My grief from the actor’s art. And as life grows older, and therefore sadder (Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze), I find more pleasure in watching the gladder And lighter order of humorous plays. Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder, Than the mirth of my lost days. I like to be forced to laugh and be merry, Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife: I like for an evening at least to bury All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife. In sooth, I like to be moved to the very Emotions I miss in life.
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