Watershed

Now on life’s crest we breathe the temperate air; Turn either way; the parted paths o’erlook; Dear, we shall never bid the Sphinx despair, Nor read in Sibyl’s book.

The blue bends o’er us; good are Night and Day; Some blissful influence from the starry Seven Thrilled us ere youth took wing; wherefore essay The vain assault on heaven?

And what great Word Life’s singing lips pronounce, And what intends the sealing kiss of Death, It skills us not; yet we accept, renounce, And draw this tranquil breath.

Enough, one thing we know, haply anon All truths; yet no truths better or more clear Than that your hand holds my hand; wherefore on! The downward pathway, Dear!