midnight
`` Tell me the poem you quoted . '' `` I -- I do n't believe you 'd think much of it , '' said Corydon , hesitating . `` I never expected anybody -- `` I 'd be interested to hear it , '' declared her visitor . So Corydon recited in a low voice a couple of stanzas which had come to her in the lonely midnight hours . Thyrsis listened with interest -- he had never heard them before : `` What matters the tired heart , What matters the weary brain ? What matters the cruel smart Of the burden borne again ? I was sick with the Nay of life -- With my lonely soul 's refrain ; But the essence of love is strife , And the meaning of life is pain . ''