The plumed, the crawling, all were You
That started hither long ago.
For man is many when begun,
But Love can weave his ends to one.
"The new, the ancient, song and prose,
The lower road, the higher aim,
The clean, the draggled, dust and snows
Were you the striving, you the same.
Pride and endeavour, love and loss,
The pattern is the threads that cross.