Into the arctic regions of our lives
When little else than life itself survives.
What then! Shall we sit idly down and say,
“The night has come; it is no longer day?”
The night has not yet come; we are not quite
Cut off from labor by the failing light.
Something remains for us to do or dare,
Even the oldest tree may some fruit bear.
Not Œdipus Coloneus, or Greek ode,
Or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode