there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pur whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? you want to screw up the works? you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep, do you?

sway with me, everything sad -- madmen in stone houses without doors, lepers steaming love and song frogs trying to figure the sky; sway with me, sad things -- fingers split on a forge old age like breakfast shell used books, used people used flowers, used love I need you I need you I need you: it has run away like a horse or a dog, dead or lost or unforgiving.

"'Life that shall send A challenge to its end, And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend.''

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST I Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

II Life is real—life is earnest—

And the grave is not its goal: Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

III Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destin'd end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

IV Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

V In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

VI

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act—act in the glorious Present!

Heart within, and God o'er head!

VII

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us

Footsteps on the sands of time.

VIII

Footsteps, that, perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

IX

Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait