“Tôi rà soát cả cuộc đời con...” “I cautious, scanned my little life...”

“I cautious, scanned my little life...”

I cautious, scanned my little life,
I winnowed what would fade
From what would last till heads like mine
Should be a-dreaming laid.

I put the latter in a barn,
The former blew away —
I went one winter morning,
And lo! my priceless hay

Was not upon the “scaffold”,
Was not upon the “beam”,
And from a thriving farmer
A cynic I became.

Whether a thief did it —
Whether it was the wind —
Whether Deity’s guiltless
My business is to find.

So I begin to ransack —
How is it, Heart, with thee?
Art thou within the little barn
Love provided thee?