Of the deep mountain forest where I stood,
And there appeared beneath a spreading tree,
A wanderer dressed in black, who looked like me.
He held a quaint old lute and a fresh spray
Of eglantine; I gently asked my way.
He answered me no word, but took with pride
A path straight up the towering mountain side.
His parting glance fell on me with a thrill
Of meaning so intense it haunts me still.
Another year sped by; one night outside