“Tôi rà soát cả cuộc đời con...” “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?