WE thread the serial's magic maze
Of mingled joy and wo;
Each turn and trap and tangled phase
Assiduously we know;
And through it all we little care
Though gold is lost or found,
Though hearts are torn and swords are bare
And gory is the ground.
The saints may live, the villain die,
The prince may sink or swim;
But "Does it turn out well?" we cry,
"And did she marry him?"
Nor are we changed when we peruse
Life's long, fantastic tale;
We little reck what heroes choose,
That knaves succeed or fail;
Come health or sickness, power or pain,
Let kingdoms rise or fall,
The proud may rule, the greedy gain,
We little heed it all.
For love we live, for love we die,
Whatever fates may be;
"Ah, will it turn out well?" we cry,
"And will she marry me?"
