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Comrades.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I and my Soul are alone to-day,
All in the shining weather;
We were sick of the world, and we put it away,
So we could rejoice together.
Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky
Is mixing a rare, sweet wine,
In the burnished gold of his cup on high,
For me, and this Soul of mine.
We find it a safe and royal drink,
And a cure for every pain;
It helps us to love, and helps us to think,
And strengthens body and brain.
And sitting here, with my Soul alone,
Where the yellow sun-rays fall,
Of all the friends I have ever known
I find it the best of all.
We rarely meet when the World is near,
For the World hath a pleasing art
And brings me so much that is bright and dear
That my Soul it keepeth apart.
But when I grow weary of mirth and glee,
Of glitter, and glow, and splendor,
Like a tried old friend it comes to me,
With a smile that is sad and tender.
And we walk together as two friends may,
And laugh, and drink God's wine.
Oh, a royal comrade any day
I find this Soul of mine.
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