WHEN I go back to earth And all my joyous body Puts off the red and white That once had been so proud, If men should pa** above With false and feeble pity, My dust will find a voice To answer them aloud: "Be still, I am content, Take back your poor compa**ion, Joy was a flame in me Too steady to destroy; Lithe as a bending reed Loving the storm that sways her— I found more joy in sorrow Than you could find in joy."