Moods

by Jack London

               Who has not laughed with the skylark, 
                      And bid his heart rejoice?
               Laughed till the mirth-loving heavens 
                      Echoed his laughter back?
               Joyed in the sheer joy of living, 
                      And sung with gladsome voice,
               Lays that were cheerful and merry, 
                      And bid his heart rejoice?
               Who has not frowned in the gloaming, 
                      And felt the skies grow black;
               While o'er him spread the dark mantle 
                      Of sullen, solemn Gloom,
               Whose mutterings broke the silence 
                      Like echoes from the tomb -
               Like echoes of lost endeavors - 
                      Reproaches from the tomb?
               Who has not cursed in his passion, 
                      As Anger's stinging lash,
               Biting and smarting and racking, 
                      Fell on his naked back?
               Felt in his veins feverish tumult, 
                      The strife, the savage clash,
               As when hot steel, leaped from the scabbard, 
                      Meets steel with crash on crash?
               Who has not wept in his sorrow, 
                      And looked in vain for morn;
               Waiting with hopeless yearning, 
                      The sun from out the bourn?
               Heard from the world the sad sobbing 
                      Of Faith and Hope forlorn?
               Known that the sun had forever 
                      Gone down into the bourn?