Blowing Bubbles

Half our sorrows, half our troubles,
Making head and heart to ache,
Are the fruit of blowing bubbles,
Bright to view, but quick to break.
,
All have played the child imbecile,
Breathing hard to swell the sides
Of a shining, fluid vessel,
Frailer than the air it rides.
,
From the infant's cradle rising,
All the bubble mania show,
Oft our richest wealth comprising
In the bubbles that we blow.
,
Brilliant, buoyant, upward going,
Pleased, we mark them in their flight,
Every hue of iris showing,
As they glance along the light.
,
Little castles, high and airy,
With their crystal walls so thin,
Each presents the wicked fairy,
_Vanity_, enthroned within!
,
But when two have struck together,
What of either do we find?
Not so much as one gay feather
Flying Hope has left behind!
,
Still the world are busy, blowing,
Every one, some empty ball;
So the seeds of mischief sowing,
Where, to burst, the bubbles fall.
,
Nor for self alone to gather,
Is our evil harvest found;
Oft, with pipe and cup, we rather
Step upon our neighbor's ground.
,
Thus, amusing one another,
While the glistening playthings rise,
We may doom a friend or brother
To a life of care and sighs.
,
Do you doubt my simple story?
I can point a thousand ways
Where this bubble-making glory
Has in darkness hid its rays!
,
Yet we 'll spare a slight confusion
Caused the world by giving names;
Since a right to some delusion
Every one from nature claims!