Читать книгу Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two - Various - Страница 33

I wish there were some wonderful place

Called the Land of Beginning Again,

Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,

And all our poor, selfish griefs

Could be dropped, like a shabby old coat, at the door,

And never put on again.

I wish we could come on it all unaware,

Like the hunter who finds a lost trail;

And I wish that the one whom our blindness had done

The greatest injustice of all

Could be at the gate like the old friend that waits

For the comrade he's gladdest to hail.

We would find the things we intended to do,

But forgot and remembered too late—

Little praises unspoken, little promises broken,

And all of the thousand and one

Little duties neglected that might have perfected

The days of one less fortunate.

It wouldn't be possible not to be kind.

In the Land of Beginning Again;

And the ones we misjudged and the ones whom we grudged

Their moments of victory here,

Would find the grasp of our loving handclasp

More than penitent lips could explain.

For what had been hardest we'd know had been best,

And what had seemed loss would be gain,

For there isn't a sting that will not take wing

When we've faced it and laughed it away;

And I think that the laughter is most what we're after,

In the Land of Beginning Again.

So I wish that there were some wonderful place

Called the Land of Beginning Again,

Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,

And all our poor, selfish griefs

Could be dropped, like a ragged old coat, at the door,

And never put on again.