In thought and wander where the fields are fair

With bursting life, and I, rejoicing, there.

Yet have I passed, Beloved, through the vale

Of dark dismay, and felt the dews of death

Upon my brow, have measured out my breath

[Pg 25]

Counting my hours of joy, as misers quail

At every footfall in the quiet night

And clutch their gold and count it in affright.

I learned new lessons in that school of fear,

Life took a fresh perspective; sad and brave

The view is from the threshold of the grave.

In that long, backward glance I saw her clear

From fogs of gathering night, and all the show

Of small things that seemed great a while ago.

Our dreams of fame, the stubborn power we call

Our self-respect, our hopes of worldly good,

Our jealousies and fears, how in the flood

Of this new light they faded, poor and small;

[Pg 26]

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