^[1]

I
‘Poor wanderer,’ said the leaden sky,
‘I fain^[2] would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
Which say it must not be.’

II

-‘I would not freeze thee, shorn one,’ cried
The North, ‘knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
But I am ruled as thou.’

III

-‘To-morrow I attack thee, wight,’
Said Sickness. ‘Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
But am bid enter there.’

IV

-‘Come hither, Son,’ I heard Death say;
‘I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
But I, too, am a slave!’

V

We smiled upon each other then,
And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
They owned their passiveness.

— 1901