The Sphynx

Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! 
Find me a Seer to read life's riddle! 
The sable crows fly over the river —
          Caw! caw! caw! 
And their glossy wings in the sunlight quiver,
          Evermore to their Caw! caw! 
As they wheel and sink, or soar and turn; 
But the wisest man cannot discern 
Of their life and motion the hidden laws, 
The why they fly, or the cause of their caws.

Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! 
Nature herself is an unguessed riddle!
On the warm hill-side the grass grows greenly 
          While the showers of the May-time fall;
And the yellow dandelions throw
O'er the meadows broad a golden glow ;
But you cannot tell, for you do not know,
How the buds are born, or the grasses grow, 
          Or why by the stilly brook the lily, 
          Stately and tall, looks over them all,
With a regal pride, serenely, queenly,
          That says as plainly as words can say, 
          "I am queen of all the flowers of May, 
          And by right of queenship, willy nilly, 
          Over them all assert my sway!"

Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! 
Man and his motives are all a riddle! 
In the human heart, that wondrous thing, 
Moved by many a hidden spring
          To the noblest good or the meanest ill, 
What passions fierce or dark are born, — 
Love and hate, and fear and scorn, —
          To lord it over the mighty will, 
And make their parent the veriest slave 
That ever crawled to a vassal grave! 
You may trace their track by the gloom or glow 
That over the path of life they throw; 
But whence they come, or whither they go, 
You cannot tell, for you do not know!

Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! 
The heart is a wonder and life is a riddle! 
Alas ! how little we know about 
The world within or the world without! 
From the sentient soul to the lifeless clod 
We can only see they are very odd. 
Marvel and question and search may we, 
But the credo ever ends in doubt;
And we turn from the Now to the dread To Be, 
          Baffled ever by all we see — 
          Mystery within mystery.

Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! 
The soul is a riddle involved in a riddle! 
Then, mortal, rest your weary brain, 
Since all your cudgelings are in vain, 
And know that the best philosophy yet 
Begins with "Don't" and ends with "Fret!" 
Beginning, middle, and end — "Don't fret!" 
Death will make the mystery plain,
          And all that is dark in a clear light set ;
          And death is certain: so, don't fret !
          Fussing and fuming disturb the brain, 
And dash with acid the lacteal flow 
Of human kindness, till ere you know, 
A pond'rous cheese usurps the breast, 
Nightmare-y and heavy and Dutch at best.

Let the sable crows fly over the river,
          Caw! caw! caw! 
Let the grasses grow and the flowers bloom ever
          Obedient to an unknown law; 
And love and hate, and wrath and fear, 
Fulfill their mission a few days here, 
Till their force is spent, or their work is done, 
Till we are cold in the dark, damp mould,
Till the song, is sung and the tale is told, 
And the secret of life in death is won! 
Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! 
Death only — the Seer — can read life's riddle.