When I knew Alice, I was mad.
But I can still remember
That she was usually serene —
Not given much to temper —

Because, she said, she’d known the touch
Of sunshine, and of sorrow,
And that she’d just enjoy the now
And (maybe) fret tomorrow.

We sat out in the summer sun,
And I thought her demented
Because she bore an intact soul
And just could be

Contented