Our halo of young fancy circles naught
Save empty sky far off.—And yet those rays
Fit like a crown, at last, about the face
That fortune drives between our goal and us.
“Yet, all may fail of truth; none fail like those
Who deem themselves the most infallible:
None more than men who, fallible in proof,
Yet flout the failure of a woman’s guess.
And your guess?—it went right. I thought of her,
Your sister. We both honor her, and much.