Verse > Anthologies > Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. > Yale Book of American Verse
Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse.  1912.
Edmund Clarence Stedman. 1833–1906
181. The World Well Lost
THAT year? Yes, doubtless I remember still,— 
  Though why take count of every wind that blows! 
'T was plain, men said, that Fortune used me ill 
  That year,—the self-same year I met with Rose. 
Crops failed; wealth took a flight; house, treasure, land,         5
  Slipped from my hold—thus plenty comes and goes. 
One friend I had, but he too loosed his hand 
  (Or was it I?) the year I met with Rose. 
There was a war, I think; some rumor, too, 
  Of famine, pestilence, fire, deluge, snows;  10
Things went awry. My rivals, straight in view, 
  Throve, spite of all; but I,—I met with Rose. 
That year my white-faced Alma pined and died: 
  Some trouble vexed her quiet heart,—who knows? 
Not I, who scarcely missed her from my side,  15
  Or aught else gone, the year I met with Rose. 
Was there no more? Yes, that year life began: 
  All life before a dream, false joys, light woes,— 
All after-life compressed within the span 
  Of that one year,—the year I met with Rose!  20

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