23.07.2007, 10:51
I see the days stretch out in wavering line
Toward that sure day when we shall lie in mould.
What fate, I wonder, sordid or divine,
Within their close-shut hands for us they hold?
We have walked with teh winds in chasmy places,
And been as birds down sea-born tempests flung,--
Seen joy and wonder on each other's faces,
And learned that life is maddening still, and young.
Will the slow days cancel,--or reconcile,--
These with more sober meanings that they bring?
Shall we part bitter, or with humorous smile,
Or with heart-rent tragic remembering?--
Or sink in friendship, each a tired guest
Who finds the dreamless fireside-slumber best?
Toward that sure day when we shall lie in mould.
What fate, I wonder, sordid or divine,
Within their close-shut hands for us they hold?
We have walked with teh winds in chasmy places,
And been as birds down sea-born tempests flung,--
Seen joy and wonder on each other's faces,
And learned that life is maddening still, and young.
Will the slow days cancel,--or reconcile,--
These with more sober meanings that they bring?
Shall we part bitter, or with humorous smile,
Or with heart-rent tragic remembering?--
Or sink in friendship, each a tired guest
Who finds the dreamless fireside-slumber best?