Happiness
If happiness were perfect on this Earth,
How dreadful
It would be!. For surely we would find,
As we approached
The closure f our lives,
That death would be intolerable fate!.
How could we then surrender those bright joys
And pleasures,
Which we had appreciated
Unestopped
Throughout our carefree lives,
To grave uncertainties beyond our death?.
Unguaranteed felicities would seem
Unwelcome
For, how could we face cessation
Of sure bliss
For something that might give
Us dark and doubtful future substitutes?.
Yet, if that afterlife were known to be
As faultless
As the one we now enjoyed, why
Should we wish
To pass from this estate?.
What would we gain by making the exchange?.
Therefore, even if knowledge of sure death
Weren’t hidden
From our minds, our satisfaction
Still would remain;
Indeed, we could not grieve
For loved-ones passing on where we were not.
Such bland acceptance of our greatest loss
As some mere
Incident of small import, might seem
To be true
Happiness and basis
For a life untroubled by misfortune.
And so it would, if we were as the beasts
Around us
That pass their lives in unconcern.
We would be
No better than they are
That have no conscience and small intellect.
We would be happy; But at what great price?.
For our world
Would be no finer than it was,
In ages
Past recall, before men’s
Minds learned use of their god-like discontent.
At ease with life — content with wilderness,
Loss and death,
Happy with all that comes or not —
We would be
Complacent animals,
Not evolution’s cleverest design;
For there would be no books, no arts, no sounds
Of music,
Nor science nor technology,
Since no need
To progress or improve
Our circumstances would occur to us.
In knowing that this life does not suffice
We must search
Not just for comforts while we live,
But also
What ways best could lead us
To some imagined improved future state.
Imperfect happiness on Earth has forced
Our progress
From brute beasts to human masters
Of our world
And brought us our sole grace;
To seek perfection through our innate means.
If happiness were perfect on this Earth
There could be
No reason to improve our lives,
No Heaven —
Real or false — to inspire!.
Dissatisfaction made us what we are today;
The cynosures of evolution’s work on Earth!.
